Aristotle: Second Beginning
by DazedInReality
Summary: Fate hasn't dealt Aristotle the best of deals, his only mate is dead and he and his son have been esgranged for years. Its left him restless and jaded, but he finds love in the most unexpected of places.
1. Chapter 1

"I don't understand," Wren repeated watching his father manually pack his clothes into his case, "why are you doing this again?"

Aristotle spared his only child an exasperated look before returning his gaze to his shirts, he turned to Wren.

"The pale pink or the pale blue?"

Wren shook his head and stood up, "are you having a mid-life crisis?"

"Wren," Aristotle began patiently, "why is it so hard for you to accept that I want to take a break from Tigarian Tech? Work can be damn stressful sometimes … and I'm not as young as I used to be."

Aristotle admitted this resentfully, he didn't like feeling his age at all.

Wren snorted at his father and gave him an once-over; nobody would ever believe that Aristotle Tigarian was a day over forty. In fact, when he's father wasn't working himself to a ruin he looked thirty-five. Old age to a Were-Hunter was never the same as it was for a human; it took the first hundred years to grow up then the next millennia to get mature and then a few hundred years after that just for their old age to kick in. It was ludicrous to think that his father could be old, when the man still ran his company with the same ruthlessness and untiring, single-minded concentration and intensity that he had when he founded it. In fact, that was the way Aristotle lived his life, with no room for error or misjudgement or, as far as Wren could see, fun.

"Because its you!" Wren responded, almost laughing at how blasé his father was being, as if taking off on vacation was something that he did all the time. "I mean, I'm not saying it's a bad thing … it's actually something I wanted to tell you to do for ages. But you never do these things without being blackmailed into them, then you spend all the vacation grumbling and not having fun. It kind of makes me think there's something … wrong?"

Aristotle laughed, he did love his son deeply, before he'd brought Wren back into his life there had been nobody around to worry over him the way his child did.

"I'm not sick, Wren, I'm just … in need of a change."

Wren let out a slightly relieved breath and nodded.

"Well, if that's all it is," Wren muttered, picking up the selection of ties from the floor that Aristotle didn't want to take with him, "but you can't blame me. I mean, ever since I was a cub work was your world. Once you were at your desk I think you forgot you had a son …"

Wren closed his eyes and wanted to saw his tongue off; he'd meant it as a joke but should have known better. Because his guilt over the past, Aristotle had a hard time dealing with any mention of it and Wren making light of it all didn't help. Wren looked over to see his father standing still and staring down at the shirt he was holding, Wren cursed himself.

"Shit, I'm sorry, Dad," Wren said, putting the ties on the bed, "I didn't think. I know you don't like me mentioning -"

"Its fine, Wren," his father said gracefully, "it's alright."

Wren nodded and stayed silent, the awkwardness crept between them to the point where both animals felt the need to pace, but in their human bodies stayed completely still.

"Well, I better get back to Maggie," Wren muttered and offered his father an apologetic smile, Aristotle grabbed his son in a hug. Wren hugged back, grateful that his slip of the tongue hadn't completely affected his father's mood.

"See you later, son," Aristotle said, giving Wren an affectionate slap on the cheek, Wren smiled and flashed himself to his own house. When he was alone Aristotle sat on his bed and sighed, Wren was always very careful never to mention his childhood in front of him, Aristotle knew by the way he and Maggie skirted around the issue whenever the conversation took that kind of turn. Aristotle remembered one occasion when Nicky, his oldest grandchild, had been about two and was intent on climbing everything that stood still, and even those things that didn't. Maggie had said she was getting just like her father, meaning that when their daughter set her mind to something she stubbornly committed to it until she achieved it. Wren had teased that he had never had an obsession with climbing things in his cub days and Maggie had scoffed and asked him how he would know and that she would just have to ask Aristotle. At that point Maggie had looked panicked and Wren had given her a just-change-the-conversation look. The worse thing was that Aristotle knew Wren did not want to throw anything back in his face, that he didn't blame him for being a complete bastard to him as a cub. That kind of forgiveness and acceptance was sometimes harder to take then just having Wren hate him … well, no, that wasn't true. If Wren hated him Aristotle knew it would rip him apart, especially now that he knew what a good, mature and capable tiger Wren had turned out to be. It was what made being around his grandchildren so hard for Aristotle, he saw in Wren everything he should have been as a father and protector. When the twins, Ashley and Hailey, had been born each had their own defect. Ashley, the human twin, was born with a strange pigment defect on her skin. She had been born with an upside down triangle on her forehead, the point of which touched the centre of her forehead and spread up about three or four centimetres into her hair line. It was a shocking white colour, stark against her dark brown hair and the Cajun skin colouring she'd inherited from her mother's side. It was more prominent then ever when Maggie tied the child's hair in pig tails and the centre parting divided the triangle through the middle. The tiger twin, Hailey, had been born a white tiger, which was considered amongst tiger kin to be one of the worst defects and disgraces their breed could suffer. It was probable to assume that Ashley would also be white when she went through puberty and gained the ability to take Were form.

Wren knew the implications of these defects yet he refused to be anything but a loving, proud father. It hurt Aristotle to see the way Wren rolled upon the ground with his children, human and cub, and the way they climbed over his back and bit at his ears. Aristotle longed to know what that felt like because he and Wren had never been like that, he had never allowed it and by the time he had become willing it was too late. And now, if he asked Wren to crawl over his back his son would likely stare at him in horror and then proceed to beat the life out of him while yelling at Maggie to phone Oprah to see if she could help.

No, Aristotle had lost his chance a long time ago and all he could do now is try and make up for it the best he could with a son who really never needed his help. What did Aristotle have that could be given? He'd assumed that finding his son and being in each other's life would give him the sense of purpose to his life he had waited for while Wren lived his fate and discovered the truth. But it hadn't, in fact, the lack of purpose made him feel so obsolete that he was becoming depressed and, dare he say it, lonely. His company could run without him, he had many loyal employees working under him; Wren had his family and mate. There wasn't even an arch enemy out there who's quest for revenge meant Aristotle had to keep fit and on his toes. Damn it, some mornings he didn't even get out of bed!

That's why he was going away, to see if he can rediscover something of his old self out in the world. He was even going to do it all the human way, no flashing himself hither and thither for convenience. If he caught a plane that was delayed then he would have to wait those four hours, or if his car broke down he'd pull to the side of the road and hitchhike to the local gas station. Yeah, Aristotle thought, he was planning on getting some peace and tranquillity away from New York and he was going to do it the good old fashioned human way.

* * *

Imogene Butler carefully lifted the phone from its cradle; she covered the mouth piece with her hand and held it to her ear.

"Hello?" she heard her husband's voice answer, he had picked up from the kitchen.

"Hey baby," a sweet and enticing voice sounded from the other end of the line, it was lightly accented making Imogene think of a stunning Scandinavian beauty, with perfect breasts and platinum blond hair down to her ass.

"Ah, this isn't a good time," Imogene's husband Mike said, by the sound of his voice she was sure he was looking over his shoulder to check if she was around.

"Oh, why? Is your wife around?" the voice said, evidently fearing she'd gotten him in trouble.

"Well, she's somewhere around," he muttered, "I told you not to call me at home."

"Oh, like she'll find out, I'd just pretend I dialled the wrong number."

"Natasha, don't get cocky," Mike warned, "you make trouble for me and it ends!"

"I'm not making trouble for you," the voice whined, "I just want to see you. Can't you come around for a while, I miss you."

She heard Mike chuckle stupidly, "it's my day off. She'll get suspicious if I say I'm going into the office today."

The voice begged some more and Mike relented but only after lots of I-want and I-need-you's and plenty of fuck-me-all-around-the-rooms. Imogene felt her stomach churn as Mike agreed and gave some lewd suggestions as to where Natasha should be and what she should be wearing when he went to meet her. As they said their goodbyes Imogene eased the phone back into place and looked at her pale and wounded reflection in her oval, white framed mirror on top of her vanity table. She heard Mike come jogging up the stairs and opened her laptop and put on her glasses as if pretending to be in the middle of something. She heard the door open and didn't bother to look over her shoulder; he walked into their shared bedroom that also doubled as an office for Imogene. Since Mike was the main breadwinner, all because his male ego couldn't stand the thought of Imogene earning as much as him, he got to have the house's spacious office for himself. Imogene readily agreed to this and thought to set up office in one of the spare bedrooms but he had insisted that if he's mother came to stay the house would be a wreck. He slowly found fault with anywhere she chose to set up office so instead she carted the stuff around the house with her to whatever place might be suitable and empty at the time. All this for an easy life with a picky, fussy, difficult man who Imogene now realised was cheating on her.

"Who was that on the phone?" Imogene muttered indifferently, staring at the line of black ink on the page she was supposed to be reading.

"Darren from work. Needs help. Got to go in," Mike explained in short, sharp sentences.

"But its your day off," Imogene said and heard him pause behind her, she flicked her gaze up to see him reflected in the mirror, he was checking which jacket went better with his shirt.

"I know, Idgie," he said distractedly, it stung that he used his old pet name for her so casually when he was about to go off and meet another woman. Imogene coldly pushed it aside and concentrated on keeping her voice deceptively casual. "I'm sorry about this; I'll make it up to you."

"Don't be sorry, honey," she replied sweetly, "if you need to go, you need to go."

"I knew you'd understand," Mike said, suddenly looking elated that he wouldn't meet with anything that might hinder his booty call, Imogene smiled icily.

Mike left soon after, taking the Mercedes out the drive like it was on fire and zooming down the street. Imogene waited until the sound of his car was gone and all she could hear was the distant sounds of Mr Turner's record player, he always played the old vinyl records. Sometimes Imogene found herself waltzing around the house to his tunes, which were nearly always musicals. It was his music that she'd come to associate with the boredom and silence of her own house in the middle of the working week. And now her weekends.

Imogene looked back at the page she was supposed to be reading, she'd always wanted to be a writer but Mike had ridiculed her ambition so much that she stowed it away. But just so she didn't go mad with the overload of creative juices flowing through her, Imogene regularly attended a writers club, a reading club and wrote plays for the amateur dramatics society now and again.

Though Mike didn't actually know all this, he got a very watered down version of the reading club. He wanted a wife and a home-maker not some opinionated writer who would very likely satirise his pompous colleagues and wealthy clients whenever she got the chance. He didn't want to come home everyday to a damned …

Imogene knew Mike didn't know any women writers and she would deliberately suggest ones he hadn't heard of whenever he started this rant. He would dwindle off into a disgruntled silence and glare at the same page of his men's health magazine for an hour. It was because of the sudden lack of these arguments and abrupt lessening of his insinuations that she was getting older and fatter that Imogene suspected something was going on. And it was: Natasha. Imogene had never seen the husband stealing bitch but Mike had mentioned a couple of times casually over dinner about the new receptionist, who couldn't type fast enough but was a friendlier face then his old one. Imogene had congratulated him at the time for finding someone who could work all those tough hours, though the Natasha she'd heard on the phone didn't sound like a fifty-nine year old widow from New Jersey with a smokers cough.

Mr Turner's music changed and Imogene's first thought was that he must have swapped his old turn tables for a more modern CD player, then she heard the song and groaned. It was Susan Boyle 'I dreamed a dream'; Imogene didn't particularly like any of those other reality TV shows that they insisted on making. And for weeks after this woman had appeared on British television Imogene had seen the woman none stop in her home, now she was rather sick of it. Imogene wasn't even sure she knew which musical this song was from. With the shock of Mike's exposed infidelity wearing off, numbness had replaced it and it made any thought about anything impossible so Imogene was forced to listen to the song. The more she listened the more appropriate it seemed to be, the words of the song piercing her more then the voice of the woman. She felt emotion bubble up inside her and it had Imogene jumping from her seat and storming down the stairs, intent on going over to Mr Turner and claiming a migraine so he would turn this song down. For Imogene knew that once Mr Turner played a new song, he would wear the thing out until even the recorded voice started to croak with weariness.

Imogene was just walking through the living room, thinking to cut over her back lawn, jump the fence and go through the small alley way that led towards Mr Turners when the words seem to physically stop her in her tracks.

_I used to dream my life would be ... something different from this hell I'm living. _

_So different now from what it seems, life has killed the dream … I dreamed._

With that Imogene went down on her knees in mid-stride and wept bitterly into her hands, the sobs were loud and wrenched straight from her heart. She couldn't believe this was her life! This was how she would exist for the next however many years until she died; she was a washout, a mere speck of dust on the universal stage being trod on while she watched others around her cutting their faces into the stars. She had given up huge chucks of herself until she imagined her soul to be no stronger then gossamer thread, all for a man she thought she loved and who she thought loved her. The injustice of it all made her scream out, she didn't care if people heard her, she didn't care if the police ended up knocking on the door and serving her with some kind of court order for disturbing the peace. She needed to beat on the floor with her fists, she wanted to go into the kitchen and push over those cupboards with Mike's mother's prized china inside. She wanted to put CD's in the microwave and watch the crackling explosion it was likely to make. She wanted to take his American Express and manually push it through the shredder, and put his prized certificates of achievement from school and his diplomas from college into the blender. She wanted to … put the lawn trimmer over all his suits. In spite of her grief Imogene snorted with laughter at that one, her sobs eased a little into quiet hiccups and heavy breathing. Imogene pulled herself up off the floor using the couch and all her remaining strength, when she once again stood tall, she found herself gazing listlessly at all the material things she possessed. That Mike possessed really, he'd bought and paid for the stuff, none of it was to her taste at all, but it was to his mother's taste. Mike was more bloody house proud then she ever had been, her main focus in life was to build memories not consume and gather material things that she couldn't take with her into the hereafter. Mike had never appreciated this 'jumble of hobo, hippy nonsense' as he put it and demanded she pick the curtains she wanted or he'd pick it for her. Imogene's eyes passed over the window that looked out to her front lawn and the street, immediately they focused on a stranger there. Imogene was shocked out of her crying by his appearance in her neighbourhood, they never got strangers here. This maddeningly perfect suburban street was something straight out of Desperate Housewives except without the juicy drama. Imogene would have gladly taken life on Wisteria Lane with all its psychos and insane neighbours, then the one Mike had built for them in Maple Bowers. This stranger was intriguing by the fact that he wasn't anything like the men on Maple Bowers who were everything Wasps were expected to be. Yet Imogene couldn't actually put her finger on what was different about him and decided that she had simply imagined him to be different because she'd just faced the reality of how much she truly hated her life and nearly suffered a break down over it.

He was taller then the average male with Imogene estimating from her vantage point that he was just under six feet or thereabouts. He was also extremely handsome, a more handsome man she didn't think she'd ever seen and that included the young men in the area who were at their peak of physical excellence. This man who was undoubtedly reaching his forty mark like herself, though looking wonderful for it, beat all those younger men hands down. He had an arrogant look about him, well it could have been confidence but Imogene wasn't feeling generous to the male sex at that moment. And he stank of wealth which grated on Imogene and turned her against him more then anything. He probably had a beautiful wife somewhere whom he was cheating on with a ditzy employee who was practically an infant, because that's what all the members of the good old boys club did. Imogene noticed that not only was she staring but the man was staring back at her through the window, her window! Imogene snarled at him and walked out of sight, as she made her way back upstairs she found herself crying again, she ended up sitting in the middle of the staircase sobbing into the carpet.

* * *

Aristotle raised his eyebrows in surprise, he'd only stood outside the woman's house so he could get a fuller look at the house directly across the street, he was renting for the time he was going to be in this place. It was only when he had heard the sobbing that he'd looked through the window and seen a woman in there in the midst of deep despair. He had wondered whether or not he ought to get help from a neighbour who knew her, it was very likely that in a place like this all the Stepford wives knew each other and their business. But she had stopped abruptly and stared around the room not in anger but as if she were in the middle of a field where a battle had just taken place and her furniture was the broken, bloody bodied of the soldiers who had died needlessly and for nothing. Her grief had been so strong it made Aristotle wonder whether someone dear to her had died. Shaking his head with a sigh he returned his attention to the house over the road, he tried not to grimace, Wren would likely crack a rib laughing if he saw what Aristotle would be living in. Aristotle had never been one for interior design per se but he did like modern conveniences, he also liked space. This house looked … fussy. Like an old woman who smelt like cats lived and died in it. Aristotle walked over to it and up to the front door, the immaculately kept lawn was flourishing, he took out the key the estate agent had given him and slotted it into the white wooden door. The door had a strip of frosted glass in it that blurred Aristotle's view of the hallway, it swung inward and Aristotle wondered if this was his hell. He'd never seen anything so fussy or neat or clean, it was disturbing. Lace doilies were placed on beautiful wooden furniture that like naturally beautiful women needed no adornments to draw attention to them. There was a strong smell of lavender in the air, Aristotle had never been particularly partial to the scent, under it was an old stale smell of must. There was still a rocking chair in the living room by the fireplace which would have been beautiful if it hadn't been so ostentatious. Aristotle shuddered as he had an image of a skeletal old lady rocking in it with a skeletal grey cat sitting on her lap.

"I can't stay here," Aristotle muttered desperately and actually had to stop himself from running, instead he walked swiftly to the door. As he opened it he almost run over a tiny little man that reminded him of the tiny teacher he'd seen in one of the Harry Potter movies.

"Oh, hello," the man said joyfully, he had a squeaky voice that suited his size and was strangely cute; Aristotle was stuck for words for a moment.

"Hi," he said and then remembered his manners, "I'm Aristotle Tigarian."

"Yes, I know," the man chuckled, "the neighbourhood has just been buzzing with excitement. A new neighbour is a friend waiting to be as my mother always used to say. I'm Drew. We expected you yesterday?"

The man said it without inflection but Aristotle sensed the curiosity and saw he's sharp little eyes taking in more and more with every second.

"Yes, the plane was delayed," Aristotle answered and Drew made a sympathetic tutting noise.

"Those damn things are never on time, are they?" Drew complained and Aristotle was about to comment that they would have been if he had taken his private jet. But now Aristotle was glad he'd stuck to his guns and taken a commercial flight, otherwise it looked like he'd have had a welcoming committee on his hands had he arrived on schedule.

"Well, I really wanted to come over and just say hi and see that you're settling in," Drew said oily and Aristotle's Were senses detected something decidedly crafty and cunning in Drew's character.

"Well, that's very kind of you, I'm settling in just fine," Aristotle assured him politely and Drew nodded and still loitered on the doorstep, Aristotle refused to ask him inside.

"Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"Well, I feel rather silly asking you about this, you being new and all and," Drew chuckled sweetly, "its such bad manners, what would my mother say."

"Oh, I'm sure it's not so bad," Aristotle said with gentility.

"Well," Drew spoke as if it absolutely pained him to be broaching the subject but Aristotle scented something entirely different from him. "Diana, the woman who lived here before you rented it, God rest her dear and generous soul. She was very fond of me and she told me on her death bed that I could have her dinner service."

"Oh, the solid silver one?" Aristotle inquired with an air of polite interest.

"Oh, you've seen it?"

"No, but that's usually the case with these things," Aristotle replied so smoothly that Drew didn't actually know what was implied. "I'm sorry but I have no authority to give away the items in this house. I'm sure the lady would have made her wishes known to a lawyer or even the estate agent before she died."

"Oh," Drew said evidently crestfallen, they bade each other a polite goodbye and Drew moved on down the street. Aristotle shook his head with an exasperated sigh and wondered if he's inspired idea to find his purpose in the world wasn't a bit of a mistake. Aristotle turned to go back inside and prepare to flash himself back to New York.

"Excuse me, young man?" Aristotle smiled even before he turned; it had been a rather long time since he'd been referred to as such. Aristotle eyed an athletic looking older woman in her late sixties; her iron grey hair was cut in a neat straight bob and held back by an Alice band. She was dressed in black slacks and a white shirt with a cardigan over the top; she held grocery bags in each hand.

"May I help you?"

"Yes, you may," she said in a brisk voice that said she didn't stand for nonsense, "I want you to know that Diana who lived here didn't even like Drew Murdoch, and she never wanted him to have her silver dinner service."

"Is that right?" Aristotle said with an amused smile.

"That is," she said definitely, "so don't you part with any of the belongings in this house, you hear?"

When he had nodded she gave him one nod and then her stern face softened.

"These are for you," she dumped the groceries into his arms and Aristotle had to laugh at how endearing her brashness was.

"Would you like a cup of tea or something?"

"Yes, that would be lovely. I'm Mari."

Aristotle stepped aside and allowed the woman entry; she walked in with a confidence that told him she must have been acquainted with the last owner. They settled at the kitchen table both supplied with a cup of tea and a slice of fruit cake that Mari had bought from the local bakers.

"Diana wanted that dinner service to go to Imogene," Mari said, sipping her tea daintily.

"Oh?"

"Yes, she's the woman directly across the street from you. A gem of a woman," Mari declared, "nursed Diana through her illness until it got so bad she had to be taken to a hospice. Drew had been Diana's neighbour for twenty years and we didn't see hide or hair of him until the funeral. But Imogene couldn't have treated the woman better if it had been her own daughter doing the caring."

"She sounds like quite a woman," Aristotle muttered and Mari nodded.

"She's such a happy soul, brings light into a room I swear it."

Aristotle didn't mention that what he'd seen through Imogene's living room window had been anything but happiness.

"She's not wishy-washy or silly. She doesn't fawn over people, and do you know, I like that! She has an original and expansive mind, she's an intellect without being showy about it, you know? Too good for the rest of the feebs around here. And for that idiot husband of hers."

"Hmm," Aristotle made a noise that had Mari raising a questioning eyebrow.

"Well, most smart women don't tend to marry idiots."

"Love makes fools of everyone, dear. Besides people rarely marry for love."

"No?"

Mari pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes on him as if she couldn't decide if he was dense or if he was simply acting like he was.

"Hmm," she clucked her tongue in an 'oh well' kind of way before reaching into her bag and pulling out a fist full of leaflets.

"Here."

She thrust them over the tables surface to him, Aristotle looked down at them and saw they were advertisements for the local reading club, a writers society, an amateur dramatics group, a choir, band practice, flower arranging, dress making and a rather out of place one that advertised paint balling, Mari tapped it. "My favourite. You should see the bruises."

Aristotle laughed and was about to slid the pamphlets back when she stopped his hand, Aristotle looked up to see Mari giving him a serious look.

"You look through these or you find something else, but do something. Believe me, I have lived in this street long enough to know that without something to take your mind off of the apparent perfection of everybody else's lives, you go bat shit."

Aristotle laughed heartily and nodded, he couldn't help but like Mari.

"What do you suggest?"

"Well, unless you want people to talk I would not suggest flower arranging or dress making. Despite the dullness of the pamphlet the reading and writers clubs are worth going to, and I always sit in on the amateur dramatics rehearsals so I can jeer from the front row. If you turn up to watch they will put on their best performance and it will be a hoot."

Aristotle nodded, fully intending never to set foot anywhere near any of the societies, even though reading and the theatre were passions of his.

"Well," Mari said briskly, draining her cup, "I'm going now. It was nice meeting you, Mr Tigarian. Such an interesting name …"

She let herself out and Aristotle chortled as he cleaned away their cups and plates, he tried not to think ahead to the endless amount of time he would have with nothing to fill it once this menial task was finished.

* * *

The plan to leave Maple Bowers as soon as possible was put on hold by virtue of the fact that planes back to New York were being cancelled and delayed because of serious weather warnings being put out over the state. Aristotle could have just flashed himself back home but his commitment to his 'entirely human' vacation stopped him. Instead he paced the length and breadth of his new home in his were form, slowly driving himself insane. By six o clock, night had fallen dark and thick along with pelting rain that said driving for the average human, who didn't possess his refined instincts, would be incredibly dangerous. Aristotle could no longer stand it and needed to get out and do something that involved physical exertion, though he decided to settle for something as athletic as walking to the local starbucks.

Aristotle turned up his collar on his Burberry overcoat and set off for the high street that wasn't that far. Soon the rain ran through his hair and dripped off his nose, he growled at how ridiculous he must look to all those people that spied him walking around through their living room windows. Turning the corner Aristotle walked parallel with the high iron fencing that ran around the park, he scented freshly planted pine and willow there and it made him long to take his animal form and run wild. He didn't give into this urge but he did turn into the park when up ahead he spied a police patrol car slowly turning the end corner. Aristotle knew a stranger in such a close knit community as this would incite police interest for a day or two until he proved he wasn't a threat to their well-constructed lives. Tonight, however, Aristotle was in absolutely no mood to play the wealthy gentleman persona that he projected. Not when it was pouring down with rain and he was soaked through to his underpants. Aristotle moved deeper into the shadows and waited for the glare from the headlights to wash over the gate entrance then dim as the car passed. He turned and began to walk further into the parks dark interior, the air was wet and humming with sounds and scents of suburban wildlife. Nothing like the wilds of Asia where he was born, but then what was? Aristotle heard a noise and predatory instinct demand that he freeze and move into a fighters stance, a bush up ahead rustled and out came a racoon. The racoon looked towards Aristotle with suspicious eyes that were glowing like to orbs as they hit the street light. It sniff the air then turned tail and ran, the animalistic need in his blood to hunt overrode his sense of caution and Aristotle found himself transformed into that of a tiger and giving chase down the carefully tarmacked path. Aristotle allowed the racoon quite a head start so the chase would not be so one-sided or over so soon. The racoon scarpered off the path and into the undergrowth, Aristotle gave chase his paws making deep impressions in the wet earth. His powerful body caused massive ruptures in the neatly manicured flowerbeds and raked up deep groves through the grass. When he used the thick trunks of the trees as leverage when he had to pivot quickly to keep the rodent in his sight, the sheer force of his weight did cause some of the closer to the surface roots to erupt through the earth. The rain eased off and so did Aristotle, he could hear the heartbeat of the racoon. His animal side told him to end the hunt by killing his prey but his human side refused, he had wanted sport and he had been given that, there was no reason to kill the poor creature who had already been frightened enough. Aristotle stretched and leapt over one of the low flowerbeds, that had miraculously survived his rampage, and into the pathway once more. He was about to transform when he heard a shrill shriek, which seemed overly loud in the silence that encompassed the nights in Maple Bowers, for the people here were decent and wholesome and never went out past nightfall if they could help it. Aristotle turned to see a woman standing in the pathway clutching her handbag against her chest as if it were a shield and would actually protect her should Aristotle wish to attack. Fortunately for her he was as shocked and shaken by her presence as she was his and he turned immediately and galloped into the trees, demolishing the flowerbed that had remained victoriously intact through his frenzy. Aristotle transformed as soon as he was out of sight, put clean clothes on himself and flashed himself to the gate of the park, he was about to step out when he saw the police car from earlier.

Damn, Aristotle thought, they must circle the neighbourhood!

It returned with a much livelier pace and Aristotle just missed being seen for he stepped back before the headlights caught his presence. With no way to go except back to the park, Aristotle ran back to the hysterical woman, she saw him coming and run to him, throwing herself dramatically into his arms, shaking from head to foot. It struck Aristotle as funny as he tried to calm her, that Maple Bowers must be the only place left on earth where a woman would throw herself at a complete stranger in the middle of a park at night and not expect to be raped or murdered.

"Shush now," Aristotle said kindly, "what's the matter?"

"Didn't you see it?" the woman sobbed into his chest, her hands fisted tightly in his lapels, ""a tiger! A dirty, great tiger! It jumped out of the bushes and charged at me!"

Aristotle cringed when the woman let out a wail and felt very offended by not only her description of him but of her exaggeration, granted people tended to see things differently when they were scared, but still … he hardly charged at her!

There were sounds of heavy panting and running footsteps from behind them, Aristotle tried to turn but found himself held in place by the woman's immobile body. To make things easier he hoisted her off her feet and turned with her, the police had upholstered their guns and were aiming them with apparent inexperience at him. Aristotle knew that with trigger happy, rooky cops awkward situations could become dangerous, so he allowed them to set the pace.

"What the hell is going on here?" a fat, bald one demanded angrily, he looked suspiciously at Aristotle then towards the woman. "Are you alright, Ms Martin? Did this man hurt you?"

"She would hardly be clinging to me if I had," Aristotle couldn't resist saying and just managed to not roll his eyes.

"Shut it, wise ass," the bald one said again and he and his partner, a younger but no less balder one, exchanged uneasy looks. "Put your hands where we can see them!"

Aristotle did so without a sigh, which he thought was commendable, and raised his hands from the woman's shoulders to the height of his own head, palms out.

"As you can see I have nothing that could cause any harm," Aristotle said briskly, "why don't you ask Ms Martin here what happened? I believe she said she saw a tiger in here."

The cops blinked at him then the fat one spoke up again, "is that right, Ms Martin?" he said in gentle tones, the type used on distraught kids and the mentally ill.

Ms Martin nodded fervently into Aristotle's coat, the cops exchanged looks and holstered there guns, Aristotle tried to pry the woman from him but she clung like a bur. He gave the younger cop a you-know-what-females-are-like look and let his hands drop to his side.

"A tiger?" the young one repeated dumbly, "in the park?"

"It was there," Ms Martin protested, raising her head slightly so she could look at the older cop, "officer Moran, I did see it!"

"Ms Martin -" the detective began bracingly but trailed off when she broke away from Aristotle to glare at the cop.

"You're sure it wasn't me you saw and I frightened you?" Aristotle ventured, trying to play the good citizen.

"No, I know what I saw!" she said angrily, "for God sake, I'm hardly going to misinterpret you for a tiger, am I?"

Got that right, Aristotle said and repressed a mocking smile.

"Look, if you don't believe me check over there," Ms Martin pointed to the flowerbeds and trees, "that's where it ran."

Detective Moran and his partner exchanged looks, took out their guns and their flashlights and proceeded into the darkness. There was a certain number of rustling sounds and then 'holy shit!' rent the air, Aristotle knew they had found his paw prints and the mess he'd made. He cringed.

Moran and his partner came hurrying back and they inarticulately hustled Aristotle and Ms Martin back to the park entrance.

"Ms Martin, I believe you might be right," Moran said, white in the face as if he'd just witnessed the scene of a brutal and sick crime.

"Couldn't it have been a raccoon or a fox?" Aristotle said, hoping to deter them, Moran gave him a peeved look.

"There are no foxes and raccoons around here," he said tartly.

"Well, I saw a raccoon while I was walking through there," Aristotle said and Moran rolled his eyes.

"I highly doubt that, sir," Moran said, his every word dripping sarcasm, "and even if you had, a raccoon could not have made that kind of damage."

Aristotle didn't say anything else but waited for instructions while the young cop called in what they'd found over his radio.

"What were you doing in there anyway?" Moran asked rudely and Aristotle raised his eyebrow.

"Saving a damsel in distress, you?"

"I'm hardly a damsel," Ms Martin said giddily, "but you are right, you did save me. I believe you scared it away."

Aristotle gave her a gentlemanly bow of the head before addressing Moran again.

"If you must know a lady in this area invited me to a local book club, I was going there and decided to cut through the park."

"Was that you going into the park about half and hour ago?" Moran said, even more suspicious now.

"More like an hour ago, but yes it was."

"You spent all that time in the park?"

"Well, I am new here and it is a big park. I lost my way and turned back, thinking to skip the book club until next time."

Moran gave a small nod which just looked like a sneer to Aristotle, it said plainly that Moran thought there was something wrong with a man that would go to a reading club. Aristotle turned to the lady who was watching him with adulation.

"What were you doing there in the dark, Ms Martin?" Aristotle asked, she blushed as she spoke to him and batted her lashes a little.

"I was just going for a walk," she replied casually but Aristotle sensed the lie, "I always like to walk in the park at night, its much more mysterious and … romantic at night."

Aristotle nodded politely thinking that was bullshit, the only thing the park was at night was darker and more dangerous.

* * *

Imogene sat at the rounded table in the library, the one they always brought out for the club meetings. It had a nice selection of sandwiches and sweets and a pitcher of lemonade and a flask of coffee, Imogene always took one cup of black coffee, but never drank it. She would just sit with it in her hands while everyone talked about everything but the book they had meant to read. Imogene doubted that many of them had read the thing at all, Mari was the only one Imogene could say for sure had read it because like her, Mari loved to read. Unlike Imogene, however, Mari loved to hear gossip and it was that which kept the old woman coming to the completely pointless meetings. Imogene regularly skipped the meetings, she only came tonight because she could not stand being in that house alone tonight. She and Mari usually talked about the books in depth when Mari would come over to her house during the day with a batch of cookies, or something which was usually the produce of whatever hobby had taken her fancy that week. The one reason that Imogene allowed Mari close to her was because for all her love of gossip, she was not a spreader of it, she just liked to listen and then make fun about it behind closed doors. Imogene leaned back so she could see around Mari to the window, she thanked God that the rain had eased off, which would make one less hazard on the drive home, since they were taking Mari's car.

Imogene sighed, thinking that she wished she'd stayed at home instead of being here with these twits, when she saw a patrol car pull up outside the library. She frowned and leant back even further to get a better look, she wasn't the only one who had spotted it and it brought the meeting to a halt. Officer Moran got out of the car with his partner, Steckles, they were followed by Ms Meredith Martin and … the stranger!

All four made their way into the library and came to a halt in front of the meeting table, Moran was looking stupidly pleased with himself, Steckles was just looking stupid as usual, Ms Martin was looking a little flustered at being caught by her neighbours looking so obviously dishevelled. But the stranger … he looked bored, unruffled, disinterested and thoroughly relaxed even though every woman in the place had lit up at the sight of him. Every woman that was except Imogene, her dislike for him had been put on hold because of the shock seeing him had given her, but there was still that confident, rich man thing he had going which took all the appeal from him.

"Sorry to disturb you all," Moran said his voice edged with laughter, "but I believe I've picked up one of your flock."

Everyone looked at him blankly and Moran rolled his eyes as if to say, woman were never bright enough to find his wit funny.

"I'll leave you with the ladies then, shall I?" Moran said snidely to the stranger and left with Steckles trailing behind him. Ms Martin bid the stranger a heart felt farewell, she squeezed his hand between her own as she wished fervently that they would meet again. Imogene thought she was going to get down on bended knee as she thanked him for all his help, to all this drama the stranger just nodded politely and when Ms Martin left he turned to the group. It was the first time Imogene had seen something looking like awkwardness or worry cross his face since he'd arrived, Mari was the one to break the silence.

"You've been causing trouble already, have you?" she said severely, but there was a twinkle in her eyes and a smile of her mouth that said she thought it was all great fun. Mari kicked a chair out and nodded to it.

"Take a seat."

The stranger did so, taking off his coat and folding it neatly over the chair, then seating himself nodding politely to the women that caught his eye as he scooted in place.

"Everybody this is Aristotle Tigarian," Mari announced to the curious onlookers, "moved in across the street from Imogene and me."

Everybody smiled and tittered, saying hello and how are you, he accepted this with grace but Imogene got the feeling he didn't like being the centre of attention.

"I apologise if I interrupted your meeting," he said.

"So you should be," Mari said abruptly, "we was just about the get the cauldron out when you arrived!"

Imogene snorted into her coffee and chuckled outright when she saw the sour looks Mari was getting, she glanced at Aristotle and saw his face beaming with silent laughter.

"Well, maybe if I prove my worth you'll give me a lift home on your broomstick."

Mari cackled and slapped her thigh while the rest of the women began to crowd closer to inspect the new lion that had wandered into the den.

* * *

"You take care now, Ms Martin!" Moran called out his window when he and Steckles dropped Ms Martin back home. When the woman had closed the door behind her, Moran eased the car away from the curb and back on to the road, driving swiftly down the road.

"Where we going?" Steckles asked, Moran threw him a look out the corner of his eye.

"Back to the park," he said, "animal control should be there by now."

"Perhaps we should have waited there …" Steckles muttered and Moran scoffed at him but knew he was right.

"I wanted to see nancy-boy dropped off at the library," Moran sneered, thinking resentfully of how the guy was probably thrilling all the women with the tale of his supposed rescue of the Martin woman. "What kind of guy wants to read?"

"Yeah," Steckles agreed.

"See the way Meredith Martin was looking at him?"

"Yeah."

"Like he was fucking God or some shit!"

"Yeah."

"Probably a faggot anyway, looks like he just walked out of GQ magazine, walking around the park at night. Probably hoping to catch one of the kids smoking pot in there, so he can come up behind them unawares."

"Yeah."

"All those women gonna be disappointed as shit when he turns around in three months time and he's got a guy living with him."

Moran growled and his knuckles whitened on the steering wheel, he was working himself up, there was something about the guy that just didn't quite click.

"You know what else I didn't like?" Moran said, licking his dry lips in agitation.

"What?"

"He was in that place about an hour, right? And he walked in there when it was pissing down with rain, right?"

Steckles nodded with a blank expression.

"Well, why wasn't his coat wet?"

"Huh?"

"His coat! His overcoat? Why wasn't it wet if he had been walking about for an hour in the rain while lost in the park?"

"Oooh yeah," Steckles said as if the meaning of life had been revealed, "damn, Pete, why ain't you a private detective with a nose like you gots?"

Moran tried not to look so satisfied but Steckles was looking at him in awe, like he was Einstein or something. Moran shrugged, people never give him credit for how smart he actually was, that's why Steckles was the best partner because even the simplest things were major conundrums to him. Moran pulled up outside the park, he looked over to Steckles, thinking he'd tested the guy's brain a bit too much and for the acknowledgement of Moran's intellect, Moran brought the level of conversation to something they both enjoyed.

"You see the tits on Imogene Butler in there?"

"Hell yeah!"

And they both guffawed stupidly as they got out the car.

* * *

Imogene tried not to study Aristotle under her lashes but it was rather hard, and she wasn't the only one, even Mari flushed a little as he smiled at her. He was very handsome, that was for sure. He's blond hair was so light it was almost platinum in some places. Imogene eyed it jealously, with hair that colour it would be very hard to detect grey hair, then again he may already have grey hair and just dye it. Some how Imogene couldn't see it, he didn't project that self-obsession and vanity it took for a man to colour his hair. Everything about his physical form said wealth but nothing about him boasted it, but then again just because he wasn't conceited enough to do it in a room full of people didn't mean he wouldn't do it in time. She refused to talk to him or meet his eye, she just stared into her coffee and hoped to never see him again. She could only imagine what had gone through his mind when he'd caught her crying through her window, though it was her window and he shouldn't have been looking through it. She hated the fact that he'd seen part of her break down and no doubt heard it, she hoped she was imagining it but she could swear she saw him giving her shifty looks as if he was sizing her up to see if she was mentally stable. Imogen looked at her watch and saw that they had gone over half an hour because everyone was so interested in Aristotle that no one had called last orders. Imogen nudged Mari and tapped her watch, Mari reluctantly agreed and told everyone that it was time to be going. All the women in the room, all of whom lived their lives by the minutes on a clock, groaned at having to go home. Imogene made to stand up when Mrs Gurdy called attention.

"Imogene, dear, it's your turn to suggest a book for the club."

"Oh," Imogene said and blinked when all their eyes came on her, "okay …"

Imogene's mind went blank, she'd wanted it to be her turn for ages, she'd had to go for weeks where half the women were intent on picking romances from Catherine Cookson and Danielle Steel, while the other half were picking ridiculously intellectual stuff like _Utopia _or _War and Peace_. Imogene was an avid reader and had read most of the trash and most of the highbrow crap too, if not in her own time then while she was studying at college. But she was also a fair person and didn't want to choose a book to be difficult or to show off her knowledge.

"What about _Wide Sargasso Sea_?" Imogene suggested, many of the women groaned and exchanged pained looks, the title wasn't associated with Jodi Picoult and therefore was alien to them.

"Why that one?" Mrs Gurdy asked politely, as meeting leader she had to be impartial.

"Well, we've just finished Jane Eyre and Jean Rhys book is like a post-colonial reply to it …"

Imogene let her voice trail off to silence.

"Okay then," Imogene tried again, "what about a crime novel by Raymond Chandler? _The Big Sleep _is good."

They all blinked.

"Oliver Twist? You know, its not all like the movie."

Nothing.

"_Pride and Prejudice _or George Orwell's _Nineteen eighty-four_?"

Nada.

"How about a play?"

Zilch.

Damn, they were hard work! Imogene didn't see the point of going to a book club when all people ever read was love stories that had no plot but to allow the reader to escape into a lusty fantasy for half the day. Imogene had nothing against it but variety was good too. The meeting continued to dissolve until they were all walking out the door with their coats on and the issue of the next book left undecided.

"Nice try," Mari said out the side of her mouth and she and Imogene walked to the door, Aristotle had been kept at the door by his gentlemanly insistence on helping everyone on with their coats and holding open the door. Imogene approached and Aristotle swept his hand out gallantly, she nodded frostily and moved into the night air which made her shiver.

"How are you getting home?" Imogene heard Mari ask and she bit her tongue to stop her turning around and hissing to Mari not to ask him along.

"I'm going to walk," Aristotle said and Mari waved her hand.

"Tish, you'll ride right along with us in Bertha."

"Bertha?"

"Her mustang," Imogene informed him with a slight acidity to her voice, Aristotle held her eyes for a few seconds before turning to Mari and smiling.

"That would be lovely."

Imogene tried not to feel too sour as the three of them walked back to the car, Mari was keeping the conversation alive and Aristotle listened well and replied when necessary but Imogene got the idea he wasn't much interested in Mari's prattle. The ride home went very much the same way with Mari's voice becoming like a radio in Imogene's mind as she thought of how she would return to the house and Mike would be there. He'd have timed it just right so that he came home while she was out and washed the evidence of his infidelity from his body and clothes.

"How come you got a police escort?" Mari asked Aristotle, she was looking shrewdly through the rear view mirror at him. Imogene pulled herself from her thoughts to listen also, for Moran wasn't the philanthropic type that would give a stranger a ride, unless she was a woman with sizable breasts.

"I thought to walk through the park on my way here, I got lost in there and when I turned back Ms Martin was screaming in the middle of the path that she'd seen a tiger."

"What?" Imogene said, for once her voice was devoid of coldness.

"That's what she said she saw," Aristotle said bracingly and shrugged.

"Meredith was always of the unusual type. When we were children her mother sent her to a therapist … and you know, in them days that wasn't as acceptable as it is now."

"Its not accepted now," Imogene commented testily, "they hardly roll out the red carpets for the mentally ill, people would still rather sweep them under a carpet."

"True," Mari said pursing her lips, "still … I don't think they straightened all the kinks out of her, if you know what I mean?"

Imogene snorted with laughter and shook her head, her eyes flicked over the rear view mirror and saw that Aristotle was staring at her, she frowned and turned her eyes to the passenger window.

Mari pulled up at the corner of the road and told them to get out, when Imogene asked her where she was going Mari smiled wickedly.

"Where do you think? To see if Meredith Martin wants to borrow any kitty litter!"

She cackled and drove off quickly down the street, Imogene turned to see Aristotle looking at her, she gave a half hearted shrug and began to walk down towards her house. Aristotle fell into pace with her and stayed quiet, as much as she didn't like him she found his presence and his silence comforting.

"Mari sure is something," he commented after they'd gone a few steps, Imogene made a subtle noise of agreement and nothing else. "She's very … vibrant."

"That she is," Imogene sighed without interest. Contrary to how she was behaving Mari was one of Imogene's favourite topics, it tickled Imogene's sense of humour that Mari was everything that people wouldn't expect. Imogene liked that the woman didn't look like the true eccentric that she was, she liked that she wasn't superficial or fickle. The woman had travelled the world - by herself - in her youth, had been married three times and divorced twice and was now living comfortably with the love of her life who was a quiet, elderly Japanese gentleman whom she affectionately referred to as Nitz. Mari was everything Imogene wished she had been, was and would be once she reached Mari's age, but it wasn't to be and with that thought Imogene's mood went from dismal to positively black.

"She thinks a lot of you," Aristotle said lightly, "she told me you cared for the woman who was in my house?"

"So what?" Imogene was feeling so angry she couldn't be bothered to keep up the pretence of being polite.

"So that was kind of you," Aristotle laughed as if amused by her rudeness, like she was some quirky little pass time that he would use to entertain himself until he reached home, like most men did.

"I only did it for the silver tea service," Imogene informed him scathingly, and he pursed his lips and nodded thoughtfully.

"Well, you must have done a good job because apparently she left it to you."

Imogene almost let her lips twitch even though she was still furious, she stopped and turned to him scowling darkly.

"Why are you even here?"

"On the street or in Maple Bowers?" Aristotle asked, deliberately confusing the question, Imogene snarled disgustedly and Aristotle laughed at her, knowing it would make her even angrier.

"What kind of name is Aristotle anyway?" she hissed resentfully and began walking again, her hands tucked into her coat pockets, "Your mother must have really loved you, naming you that."

Aristotle smiled and shook his head, "what is it that you really cannot stomach about me?"

Imogene shrugged unrepentantly before answering without care, "I don't like wealthy men."

"God, you are a hypocrite," he said casually as if commenting on how cold the night air was, Imogene's eyes flashed darkly when she looked at him.

"What?"

"If you live on this street you're hardly on the breadline, and since I saw you in your living room in the middle of the day I know you don't work. So how do you live? Off of your wealthy husband."

"Who said I liked him?" Imogene said sharply before she could stop herself, Aristotle raised an eyebrow and flicked a look up to her house, Imogene stood beside him on the damp street and stared at it also. The lights were on in the living room, Imogene wished that she could close her eyes and when she opened them she would be anywhere but here.

"Would you like to come in for coffee?" Aristotle asked suddenly and Imogene shook her head sadly, her hair fell forward and covered her face as she stared down at the grit on the road.

"No," Imogene muttered and with a resilient sigh pushed her hair behind her ears and stepped into the road. "Goodnight," she said softly as if they were parting from a conversation that hadn't been fraught with rudeness and animosity.

"Goodnight."

* * *

Aristotle yawned widely as he buttoned up his shirt, he stared at himself in the mirror pondering that which he had been to tired to think of last night. The torrential rain the night before had blown itself out completely and today was bright and clear without any trace of last night's bad weather. It was very likely that with this weather he might have been able to get a plane back to New York but he decided to put his plans for leaving off for a few days. As much as he wanted to dislike Imogene, he hadn't been able to get the woman out of his head. Perhaps it was because he had seen what he wasn't supposed to, so when he began to mentally bad mouth her he would begin to wonder whether her animosity was the result of something that wasn't anything to do with him at all. There was something very hurt inside her and he was curious to know what. So he waited until he saw a car with a man inside pull out of her driveway he went over to her house. He rapped hard on the front door with his knuckles and waited for her, he heard her light footsteps and relished the sight of her surprised eyes as she realised who it was.

"Good morning," Aristotle said nicely.

"Good … morning," Imogene said slowly, she looked up and down the street, "I'm sorry, do you have the right house?"

"Yes, I do," Aristotle chuckled, "I wanted to talk to you."

Imogene nodded and stood back to let him in, Aristotle stepped inside and unbuttoned his jacket casually, she shut the door and led him to the kitchen.

"Would you like something to drink? Would you like some breakfast?"

Aristotle could tell she was hoping he would refuse and that he had caught her completely out of her comfort zone, so he settled himself at her breakfast bar.

"That would be splendid," he said and clasped his hands upon the table and looked at her expectantly.

"Okay … what would you like?"

"What do you normally have?"

"Err, I don't," Imogene said, she was staring at him Aristotle noticed and when she turned away he checked his suit for damage.

"Why do you keep staring at me?" Aristotle asked and was happy when she blushed.

"Because you are wearing a suit," Imogene said trying not to smile, "are you planning on going somewhere?"

"No, I just always wear suits," Aristotle murmured, "should I not?"

"Its up to you," Imogene shrugged and began cracking eggs in a pan, "how does scrambled eggs and bacon sound?"

"Great," Aristotle said, "you are looking particularly fresh faced today."

"Am I?" Imogene snorted in a self-deprecating way.

"You don't believe me?"

"Not a bit," she said so briskly that Aristotle laughed.

He hadn't been lying, Aristotle thought it was a shame that such a beautiful woman was so hard and miserable. Her hair was a dark mocha colour with caramel streaks running through it, her eyes were a bright grey which may not have been pretty to some but her eyes were so big that it caused everyone she blinked her peepers at to take a second look. She was slim and she was average height but those things like height and weight were inconsequential to Aristotle. For some reason her hands fascinated him, they had long, thin fingers and nicely shaped and unpolished nails. He particularly found her natural scent appealing too; it kept changing with her mood. It seemed to vary between something that smelt like the ocean and then to something that was undoubtedly wood smoke. The timbre of her voice was deeper then most women and slightly husky, Aristotle doubted she could make her scream heard even if she put the whole of her lung power into it. And the length of her hair … Aristotle found himself wanting to wrap it as many times as he could around his arm.

Time had past while he had been studying her and she abruptly placed a plate of perfect looking scrambled eggs, bacon and nicely browned toast.

"Thank you, this looks wonderful," Aristotle said.

"Your welcome," she said graciously and coloured slightly, she wrung her hands before standing before the table, Aristotle looked at her expectantly.

"Why have you come here?" she asked desperately.

"To your house?"

She nodded.

"Because I found that I wanted to see you again and ask if you're okay."

Imogene's face crumbled and she looked terribly guilt ridden, "even after how appallingly rude I was to you?"

"Well, I figured there may be a reason for it and I wanted to find out what it was that I had done."

"Oh, it was nothing," Imogene said miserably, "nothing that you have done. How could you?"

Imogene sighed before flashing him her stormy eyes, "you must think I'm a total bitch."

"No," Aristotle said sincerely, "I just think you are a very unhappy woman. And I think you met me at exactly the wrong time because I, for whatever reason, make you even more unhappy."

Imogene gave him a grateful yet shy smile, "you are rather perceptive for a man, you know?"

"People get so hung up on the gender divide - oh, this is delicious!" he said after a mouthful of his eggs.

"Don't you think there is a divide?" Imogene asked.

"Yes, of course. We are all very different … there are always going to be things that I, as a man, think you can't or shouldn't do. And you will always think that there are things I can't understand because I am emotionally stunted and incapable. But I think people like to simplify their problems by blaming it on the fact that men are from Mars and women from Venus."

Aristotle looked up to see her eyes watching him with interest so he carried on talking.

"I think we forget that we are all human beings at the end of the day. That some experiences create a connection between people that supersedes the gender divide and allows them to relate to each other strictly as human beings."

Aristotle took a sip of the orange juice she'd given him but paused with the glass to his lips, "are you smiling?"

Imogene turned away quickly and began to put the pan in the dishwasher, but she was grinning from ear to ear. It had been a long time since she had spoken of things like this with a person and almost never over breakfast. Mike was always far too sleepy or grumpy to be bothered to talk in the morning, always too tired in the evening and the rest of the time he was too interested on what he was going to wear for his meetings with Natasha.

"You know, I went out early this morning and got the library to loan me some of the books you suggested at the reading club."

Imogene looked up in surprise, "really?"

"To be honest I'd read most of them before but I picked up _Wide Sargasso Sea _and read it this morning."

"You read the whole book in one morning?" Imogene said astonished, she checked her watch, "the morning isn't even over yet."

"I'm a fast reader," Aristotle said with a shrug as if it were nothing, "I always have been."

"You like to read?"

"Love it. What's not to like, right?"

Imogene nodded and they sat in silence while Aristotle finished his meal, Imogene felt a calm sweep over her as she watched him eat food that she had made for him. Imogene realised that she had never once gotten that feeling from watching Mike eat food she had prepared.

"Why did your mother name you Aristotle?" Imogene asked, expecting there to be a rather exceptional story behind it. Aristotle just shrugged and sipped his drink.

"She liked the name."

Imogene laughed, Aristotle smiled, amused by her amusement. He touched the napkin to the sides of his mouth and then placed it beside the plate.

"That was fantastic. Thank you."

His sincere praise warmed her and she happily deposited the empty plate in her dishwasher along with his glass, when she turned back she felt awkward. While she'd been cooking and then he'd been eating they had both had tasks to fulfil, now Imogene did not know what to do.

"May I ask you a question?" Aristotle asked, broaching the subject carefully. He didn't expect a violent emotional reaction from her however, even though what he'd first witnessed from her confirmed that she was capable of deep feeling, the fact that he'd caught her crying in the middle of her living room alone suggested that she wasn't overly keen on public displays of it.

"Hmm," Imogene narrowed her eyes at him playfully, Aristotle scented unease from her, "go on then."

"Why don't you like wealthy men?"

Imogene grimaced at him before answering.

"Perhaps I was just being silly, I didn't even mean it."

The look he gave her was a serious one and he shook his head, "I don't know you very well, Imogene, but you don't look like the type of woman who says anything silly or what she doesn't mean."

Imogene gave a sharp sigh as she was thinking and pursed her lips, it looked as if she were debating whether or not to spill.

"I don't like their attitude," she began and wondered whether they would have enough hours in the day for her to list the ins and outs of what she disliked about men with money.

"I don't like the money solves everything attitude and the money can get you everything one. I don't like that they see living, breathing people as possessions, purchases or commodities. I don't like the generally chauvinistic, arrogant way they have about them. I especially don't like the old boys club … And I don't like how nothing is enough, you know. How they could have what other people dream of and yet its like they feel they deserve more."

He could see this was quite cathartic for her and chose to remain silent, just in case she thought of anything else. When she didn't Aristotle carefully asked his next question.

"Is that why you don't like your husband?"

Imogene flashed those eyes at him again and Aristotle felt heat light up in his chest, he was struck by how beautiful he thought they were.

"Partly," she said ambiguously and Aristotle left it at that, she didn't ask him whether or not he was going to defend his sex because she was quite certain if he wanted to say something he would.

"I'm very wealthy," Aristotle informed her suddenly and he watched her kick up her chin in an involuntary act of defiance.

"Oh?"

"Yes," he said matter of factly, "in fact I'm revoltingly wealthy and I think for a long while I had the money solves everything attitude, I also had the its never enough one."

"You don't now?"

"No, I had revelations which made me realise how unimportant money is. I mean, don't get me wrong I like being wealthy … I love it. Its opened doors to me that would have otherwise remained shut and I think that's true for humans as well as -"

Aristotle bit his tongue, she frowned in confusion, he laughed suddenly.

"Sorry I lost the thread of what I was saying. But what I mean is … money can keep you safe, so I don't bad mouth it. But at the same time I think it is an unwritten rule that says money lost, if you work hard, can be replaced. Friends, family … love, can be lost and never gained back."

"Do you think you are wise?" Imogene asked without a trace of sarcasm.

"No, not at all," Aristotle said with an almost bitter laugh, "I don't think it takes a wise man to say those words, I think it takes a wise man to act by them."

The way Imogene was staring at him made goosebumps rise upon his skin and he had to drag his eyes away from hers, he looked at her clock for something to do and motioned to it. Imogene looked over her shoulder at the time and then back to Aristotle.

"I should be going," he said, though in reality he had no where to go so could have stayed there forever, he got up from the table.

"Aristotle!" Imogene said suddenly, when he looked at her it looked as if she were cursing herself for stopping him, but now he had she had to see it through. "Would you … like to have breakfast with me tomorrow morning?"

Aristotle blinked and gave her a genuinely happy smile, tinged with a touch of shyness, "I would love to."

Imogene nodded, "good. Around the same time?"

"Fine. And thank you for this lovely breakfast."


	2. Chapter 2

"What the hell is going on?" Wren demanded down the phone, Aristotle flinched and felt like he was trading roles with his son, "its on the TV here too. A tiger is loose, please don't tell me is was you?"

"You know, considering that your own past is far from laudable I think you should stop being so judgemental," Aristotle said calmly, though his stomach clenched at hearing how wide spread the news of a tiger in the local park had become.

"Dad …" Wren stressed the word and Aristotle pinched the bridge of his nose.

"It's not like I meant for this to happen," Aristotle snapped, "I'll just make sure that it never happens again."

There was a tense pause.

"Okay," his son said finally, "just … call me if anything happens, right?"

"Damn it, Wren! I'm not a child, I'll do as I damn well please!"

"Fine. Just call me first, okay?" Wren said back just as testily and Aristotle gave in and laughed at his boy.

"Okay you win."

"When are you coming home, dad?"

"Not sure," Aristotle said indifferently while craning his neck to see over to Imogene's house, breakfast this morning with her had been great.

"What are you doing there anyway?" Wren said, it was obvious he couldn't even comprehend what his father was doing with his spare time.

"Oh, you know, making friends …"

"You?"

Imogene stepped out of her front door and Aristotle felt an excited jolt in his stomach, he spoke rapidly into the receiver.

"Wren, something's come up, got to go now."

"Oh, okay …" Wren sounded a little put out but Aristotle promised himself he would make it up to him later, then he stopped. Wren's whole childhood had been build on Aristotle having something else to do and thinking to make it up to his son later. As much as Aristotle wanted to go talk to Imogene, his son came first.

"You know what, it doesn't matter that much," Aristotle said, keeping an eye on the window, "we can talk."

"Now I know there is something wrong," Wren said worriedly, "I think I should come down

there -"

"No, no, don't do that!" Aristotle interrupted urgently, "look if you really wanna know what's going on … I, ah, I met a woman here."

There was a beat of silence then Wren's smooth, deep voice sounded down the receiver, like the guy was doing a voice over for a jazz commercial or something.

"Dad, you dirty old tom cat," he drawled and Aristotle rolled his eyes.

"Alright, alright, that's enough," he said then clucked his tongue with annoyance, "I just got her to talk to me."

"Only just?" Wren sounded surprised.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Means you are losing it, old man."

"Ay, ay," Aristotle cried offended, he jabbed his finger at the receiver when he spoke, "you ain't too old for a slap, smart ass!"

Wren laughed before letting out a desperate sigh, "okay then, I'm gonna let you go get your woman, dad."

"If only she was," Aristotle muttered darkly, "she's married."

"Oh," was Wren's reply and before his son could tell him what a rat bastard thing it was going after another man's husband, Aristotle cut him off.

"Okay, I'm going now, boy. I love you, son."

"Love you too, dad."

They cut the connection and Aristotle was loathe to see that a patrol car had appeared outside Imogene's house and none other then officer Moran was leaning on her garden fence chatting to her. Aristotle knew that this was a small town and that friendly neighbourhood chit-chat and drop ins were common, but he didn't expect the severe jealousy he felt at seeing Moran leer at her though. It was funny, Aristotle had never even given thought to the fact that Imogene was married before, nor had he found himself particularly jealous of her husband. Perhaps it was because Imogene didn't seem to think to highly of him herself and therefore the likelihood of them actually being intimate was positively zero. Aristotle was about to put on his jacket but he stopped himself, Imogene had been right to stare at his suit. What was a man doing in a suit when he wasn't in the office at work? Aristotle flashed on a pair of jeans and a casual but smart sweater, all designer of course, before heading out the door and over to Imogene's front yard. The look on Moran's face was priceless but the look on Imogene's as she greeted him was out of this world, her face did this quick double take when she saw him coming and that beautiful natural scent of hers changed to pleasing lemony smell that he took to mean she was happy to see him.

"Officer Moran," Aristotle greeted politely before turning his twinkling eyes on Imogene, by the mischievous smile on her face she wasn't unaware of Moran's dislike of him.

"Mr Tigarian," Moran did not turn his eyes or face towards Aristotle but nodded at a space over Imogene's shoulder.

"What brings you here?" Aristotle asked and that brought Moran's fat head swinging around, his eyes angry.

"I am a local police officer, Mr Tigarian," Moran spoke as if Aristotle would have trouble understanding him, "I help this community, it is my job to help this community. That's what us people do in Maple Bowers, Mr Tigarian, we stick with each other against the outsiders."

"I'm sure he was only being polite," Imogene said calmly but her smile was wide making small crinkles around her eyes, which were terribly charming to him.

"Hmm," Moran looked from Imogene to Aristotle and noted with jealousy the way each was looking at the other, like they had some special code.

"Good day, Mrs Butler," Moran said, emphasising the Mrs enough that Imogene caught his hint and frowned at him, he gave her a knowing look that Aristotle knew by the way her scent changed infuriated her. He waddled off to his car and got in, he trundled it down the road and around the corner.

"I sure feel safe with him with him being John Law," Aristotle said sarcastically and Imogene laughed.

"He just doesn't like you," she said with a glib smile, Aristotle grasped his chest as if it hurt, her laugh was the cause of the population of butterflies suddenly crowding in his stomach.

"I seem to have that effect on people in this town," Aristotle said narrowing his eyes at her ominously to make her laugh again; he seemed to crave the sound.

"What are you doing?" Aristotle said and Imogene shrugged, she leant down and pulled at something in the flower beds, "you know that's not a weed, right?"

"Shit!" she said with a grimace and tried to stuff it back in the ground, Aristotle burst out laughing.

"Bit late for that, init?"

She smiled guiltily at him before throwing the incriminating plant across to her neighbours garden.

"I've never been much of a gardener, I try but I tend to forget about them and by the time I remember they are dead."

She squashed the disturbed turf with the toe of her boot before looking up at him again, she shaded her eyes against the sunlight that had broken through a hazy cloud.

"I was thinking of taking a walk," Imogene said, "perhaps up to the park to see the infamous tiger or around the town. Want to join me?"

"I'd love to. Though Moran will likely try to snap handcuffs on me for returning to the scene of the crime."

She laughed as Aristotle intended her to.

"Great," Imogene said, "let me just go lock up."

"Someone in Maple Bowers actually locks their door?" Aristotle said in mock amazement when she came strolling back from locking the house down, Imogene grinned and placed a pair of sunglasses on.

"Guilty," she said, "I'm a city girl at heart and old habits die hard, I suppose."

"Me too."

They had barely stepped out the shadow of her house when a car came around the corner, Aristotle recognised it immediately as Imogene's husband's Mercedes. He watched a stocky but fit man get out of the drivers seat, Aristotle sensed the man's surprised at seeing him with his wife, he watched as that surprise turned slowly to suspicion.

"Hey," he called out to Imogene in greeting, "what's going on, Idgie?"

A mixture of emotions went through Imogene, anger being most prevalent but sadness too, this had her scent fluxing rapidly.

"Mike, this is Aristotle," Imogene introduced them with a deliberate indifference in her voice, designed to show her husband she couldn't care less if he saw her with another man. "Aristotle, this is my husband Mike Butler. We're going to go into town together."

Mike's jealousy and resentment came off of his in waves, unlike his wife he didn't hide his irritation well.

"I'm going to be home late tonight," he informed her coolly and Imogene shrugged, Mike stalked up the drive without a backward glance. Imogene began to walk and she appeared to be so deep in thought that she had forgotten he was there, Aristotle slipped his hands into his pockets as he studied her soft side profile.

"So …" he said softly and it made her look at him questioningly, "Idgie, huh?"

She smiled, "I hate that name, he's called me it ever since college."

"Is that where you met?"

"Yep," the expression on her face said more then her voice did, it was like she was sincerely regretting that first meeting. "I was studying creative writing and journalism and had my whole life in front of me. And somehow … I just ended up married."

"Too young?"

"Much too young."

"Well, I think you are far too pretty to be called Idgie," Aristotle said, giving her a gentle nudge with his elbow, "how about I give you my own pet name?"

"Oh yeah?" she looked sweetly overjoyed at the prospect.

"How about … Jenny. Sort of a play on the last bit of your name rather then the first."

"Jenny …" she mulled it over a little then smiled at him, "I like it."

"Jenny it is then."

Imogene smiled and quite unexpectedly linked her arm through his, Aristotle didn't outwardly react to it in case she chose to move away. But it caused a severe case of goosebumps to flare out over his body, a hint of sweaty palms and a smidgen of dry throat.

"If you call me Jenny, can I call you Ari?"

"You can," Aristotle inclined his head to her, he detected from her emotions that something about this pained her and he couldn't really ask her why because she was so good at putting up a front.

"So what have you been doing all day?" Imogene said after their pause and Aristotle shrugged.

"Just relaxing … got an irate phone call from my boy …"

"You have a son?" she asked shocked, Aristotle laughed at her.

"I guess you figured I wasn't the type, huh?"

"Well …" Imogene struggled for words and Aristotle chuckled again.

"That's okay, you can say it."

Imogene smiled apologetically at him.

"How old is he?" Imogene asked and Aristotle had to bite his tongue to stop him blurting out Wren's real age of forty-five.

"Twenty-one," he lied and Imogene smiled a little wistfully, "he thinks because he's married now and has his own children that he can run my life."

Imogene squeezed his arm comfortingly, "I doubt you'd have it any other way."

"Little do you know," Aristotle protested before relenting, "nah, you are right. He's such a good kid … You have any kids?"

"Err, no," Imogene said her voice brittle, "Mike and I tried when we were young but we can't have kids."

"I'm sorry," Aristotle said sensing her sadness.

"So am I. For the longest time he blamed it on me, but I went and had tests done and it was found I was perfectly fine and fully equipped to bear children … it was Mike that wasn't producing."

"Oooh …" Aristotle raised his eyebrows and grimaced, Imogene nodded, glad that he understood what a situation it had caused.

"He was too full of male ego to go and try and get help," she continued, "he most certainly would not adopt. He said he didn't want to raise the bastard of a crack whore."

She gave a humourless laugh and wondered why she was spilling all this to Aristotle when Mari didn't even know the full extent of it. But she just found him so easy to be with and so hard to keep things from. She wanted to tell him it was what made the whole situation with Mike having an affair more painful … some women would have left to find a man they could build a family with, but Imogene had stayed because she thought she loved him. And now she was left with a broken, wasted life with no children for a man that was screwing someone else.

"You know, a part of me is glad I didn't bear his child," Imogene confessed to Aristotle, "especially now I see how we are two completely different people … I wouldn't have wanted any son of mine growing up to be like Mike. Not that he's an especially bad man … but I wanted my children to be more open to things, be free from the constraints that I know he would have forced on them."

"I know how you feel," Aristotle muttered and Imogene looked up at him, she pushed her glasses upon her head so she could look into his eyes.

"The woman I had Wren with - my son," he explained, "Karina. I thought we were content with each other, if not happy. But she turned out to be very different to what I thought. And as much as I love my son I sometimes wish he'd been made with another woman, someone with a more human heart."

"Was she a bit of an animal then?" Imogene asked, not knowing how accurate her words were.

"You have no idea," Aristotle said bitterly, at Imogene's curious look he tried to explain without giving himself away.

"When we first met we knew that there was always going to be some … disturbances, for we were from very different backgrounds."

Yeah, a leopard and a tiger, how screwed up was that?

"But it went along fine until our son was born. Wren."

"That's a lovely name," Imogene said softly and Aristotle smiled.

"I chose it for him," he said and found the mention of his son's birth filling him with sadness, as though she sensed it Imogene laid her hand over his forearm. "Karina was … repulsed, I guess there is no other word for it, she was repulsed by him. He was mixed race and it had caused some apparent defects in him."

"Oh my God, like what?" Imogene said, disturbed that a mother could ever be repulsed by her own child, plus she had never heard of babies being born with defects because of being biracial.

"Nothing that effected him, he grew out of whatever it was she couldn't stomach. But she didn't like that he wasn't, for want of a better word, pure. So she left. We continued to stay married but living apart, I paid for her lifestyle and she took lover after lover after lover."

"And you didn't?" Imogene looked at him as if he were insane and Aristotle wished he could tell her about the clause in the mating contract that made him an eunuch without his mate.

"I wasn't brought up that way," he said simply, though that didn't seem to appease her, in fact it looked like it disturbed her more.

"I don't know if that's admirable or stupid."

"Oh, believe me its stupid."

"So you raised your son by yourself?" Imogene asked, she had a bit of a soppy expression on her face which told him she thought he was a real swell guy. If only she knew the truth about his unkindness to his own son, she would not be so quick to praise him. But Aristotle knew he couldn't really tell her about Wren's childhood, she'd never understand without the whole story and the whole story was just too fucking weird to handle.

"Something like that," Aristotle said and she smiled sweetly.

"I think that's so wonderful."

He felt his stomach shrivel with guilt at letting her think him a good man, he longed to change the subject.

"What happened to your wife?" Imogene asked after a moment or two of thought.

"She was killed in a house fire," Aristotle said immediately, it was partly the truth.

"Wow, what a way to go," Imogene muttered and Aristotle shrugged.

"It was of her own doing and I don't feel too much for her to be honest. She didn't do right by me or my son and I can't forgive that."

Imogene just nodded.

Their conversation took them into the town where they stopped off at a McDonalds, Imogene quickly ordered a Big Mac meal which had been her favourite since forever, she went and sat while Aristotle was getting his food. When he sat with her Imogene gaped.

"Wow," she muttered looking at his piled up tray, "hungry?"

"I always eat a lot," Aristotle said dismissively and Imogene nodded and tried not to stare.

"I can't believe you stay in such good shape if you eat that much all the time," Imogene started on her fries first, "I mean, by our age most men have a small paunch or hair starting to build in there ears. But you look great."

Aristotle laughed and shook his head at her, "And you don't? Look at you, your skin is perfect, whatever lines you have just add charm to you. Your hair is still so long and thick, silky looking and dark … it reminds me of Italian coffee."

Their eyes held for long seconds before they both snorted with laughter yet the colour was high in both their cheeks. They finished their meal with easy chit-chat and when they decided to leave Imogene, in a fit of who-the-hell-cares bought herself another Big Mac meal to go.

"I have never seen a woman put an entire Big Mac meal away so fast," Aristotle said, his voice leant towards very impressed and pleased rather then disgusted, which made Imogene laugh happily.

"I know, I have a passion for junk food because I never get to eat it," she stressed the word never and rolled her eyes as she spoke.

"Why?"

"Mike," she groused, "he hates junk food and those that eat it. He likes nutrition and organic rabbit food that substitutes for a salad."

Aristotle smiled in commiseration but was somewhat unsettled by the fact that her husband held so much sway over what seemed such a logical and strong woman. He was peeved that she was married to such an uptight, stick in the mud when she could be on the market with a host of willing men beating down her door. Aristotle snagged one of her fries and Imogene immediately held out the bag to him, they walked along in silence, dipping their hands in at will.

"Do you like to talk?" Imogene asked suddenly taking him by surprise.

"Where did that come from?" Aristotle chuckled.

"Just thinking about things," Imogene shrugged then grimaced, "I do it a lot. My mind follows so many different tracks that I sometimes throw questions out … and I like to know what people think. I like original answers."

She paused before giving a small huff of laughter, "drives Mike crazy."

"Well, I like it," Aristotle said, "makes the conversation more interesting. Is Mike actually alive?"

Imogene chuckled heartily, "I have my doubts."

"In answer to your question … yes I like talking," Aristotle said, "but I also like to listen. You know, some people have the most fascinating things to say. I mean, I'm not pretending that I'm the best listener or even the best talker, and sometimes I find myself spacing out when people speak to me, or my minds too full at that time. But when you get with that one person who talks sense with a nice easy, clear voice, its relaxing."

"Makes you feel like you don't have to do all the work," Imogene muttered.

"Yeah."

She had a soft smile on her lips that made Aristotle want to reach his hand up and touch her mouth, she looked up at him.

"Favourite talk time?"

"Huh?"

"Do you like speaking on the phone while in the bath? At a café on your lunch break on a hectic day at the office? Or leaning over the cot talking to your youngest granddaughter and being allowed to ramble about anything and everything because you know she can't understand you, but she still looks at you as if you're saying the most interesting things?"

"Honestly, I like this kind of talk," Aristotle admitted and Imogene kept her face downcast in her fries, "I do … I like that we're just waking along - not too fast or too slow. I like that we're talking about things that let us get to know each other, its trivial and nothing that will change the world but they are things that are important to us."

"I like this too," Imogene agreed softly, glancing at him quickly then turning her eyes away.

"Your favourite talk?" Aristotle threw the question back and watched her blush a deep crimson, she looked as if she were debating whether to tell him.

"Pillow talk," she said finally and a flame of arousal burst through his entire being, his smile widened.

"Really? Why?"

"Because its so rare," she responded quietly and refused to say anymore. Aristotle let it drop but the silence that fell between them meant that they had breached a certain privacy barrier and it made him ask his next question.

"Is your husband having an affair?"

Imogene's head snapped around to look at him, her eyes aflame with anger and pain, Aristotle wished he could take his words back.

"Why would you ask me something like that?" She looked livid.

"I'm … forgive me, that was rude and more importantly none of my business," Aristotle said quickly and sincerely and he saw the anger bleed out of her, she nodded and they carried on walking, Aristotle watching every expression that passed over her pretty, down turned face. Imogene turned to him suddenly, "I'm sor -"

Aristotle held up his hand to silence her, he picked up her hand hanging at her side and kissed it on the back. They carried on walking but Imogene kept her hand in his, even though she knew it was risky because people would see her, she didn't care.

"So you studied journalism at college?" Aristotle said after a while to break the silence, Imogene nodded.

"But I never wanted to pursue it as a career."

"No?"

"No, I wanted to be a writer."

"What kind of novels?"

Imogene shrugged though Aristotle could feel her tension easing as she talked about her passion.

"Anything, but I do like sci-fi."

"No way!" That surprised him some, "Why haven't I seen your name on the cover of a hardback somewhere?"

"Not good enough," Imogene lied easily.

"Bullshit," Aristotle said quickly and earned himself a scathing glare that melted into a reluctant smile.

"Mike was being difficult about it," she relented finally and Aristotle felt a prickle of annoyance, the guy's name always seemed to crop up in conversations to do with her not fulfilling her potential.

"I can't imagine that would stop you somehow."

The look she gave him could only be described as glowing before she responded.

"Well, it didn't really. But when he's at home he makes it difficult for me to sit anywhere and just type. And when he's not I have to make sure all my stuff is packed away. When we were young we used to have huge arguments about it but now I just give in for peace."

Aristotle ground his teeth, the guy was a complete asshole! He had tried to crush all that creative originality out of her by stifling her in an oppressive town in a fussy house with nosy neighbours. His relentless battering of her emotional side had caused her to shut away her true self just to get some semblance of peace, it was disgraceful!

"I think you should write," Aristotle said fiercely, he looked at her with indignation and resolve in his eyes, "I think you should write one fucking great book, something that you want to write. Don't write it to get it published, write it with whatever message you want. Then send it to me, I'll pull every string I have to have your name advertised on billboards, radio and TV. Then I'll send a signed copy to that stupid husband of yours."

Imogene's brow furrowed in wonder and confusion as she stared at him, "you're not joking, are you?"

"Not one bit!"

"Why would you do that?" she asked, it wasn't a purely intellectual question as she wished it to be, she genuinely couldn't fathom why he would ever go to the trouble for her.

"Because I want to make you smile so wide it will be seen on your face for days after," Aristotle said before he could stop himself and it made Imogene's heart literally ache. She squeezed his big hand that was wrapped around hers and they walked in silence and in deep thought back to their street. They parted at the corner and with a few furtive looks over their shoulders each disappeared into their own house, with Imogene going straight to her laptop in her bedroom and powering it up all the while wishing she could run straight back to Aristotle. Aristotle meanwhile walked in and went straight to the phone and telephoned his estate agent, he knew this house and neighbourhood wasn't for him.

* * *

Imogen sat at her dressing table with the screen opened to a page on word processor, her fingertips were getting tired from the endless writing she'd done since coming home. Around her were research books and her notepad which she used to keep her ideas, she typed out another sentence and then saved it. She heard the stairs creak and rolled her eyes. Mike had come home earlier then she would have expected, Imogene assumed that Natasha must have had to go somewhere and Mike had been forced to return. At first seeing her at her desk he had tutted and disappeared downstairs again, which was fine with Imogene because just looking at him made her want to attack him. But for some reason he kept sneaking up the stairs at regular intervals, she could hear the creak on the fourth and thirteenth stair, sometimes he would stop halfway and it would go quiet as if he were just listening to her typing. Other times he had come strolling in the room, giving her some lame ass excuse for why he was in there and he would make more noise then a herd of cows running through the room. Now he was back again, Imogene felt her teeth grind and she determinedly kept her eyes on her laptop.

"Paul just phoned," Mike said as he came into the room, it hadn't been Paul it had been Natasha phoning to say sorry to him. He never told Imogene but he usually finished work half day and had been doing so for over a year now. Before he would just go to bars and pick up whatever woman was available at the time, a lot of women were available to him, young women too. And since he was getting on in years the fact that he could still have a twenty year old come on to him was something he prided himself on. Though he liked to pretend it was his body, good looks and stunning personality, Mike was aware that his expensive executive suits, Rolex and Mercedes-Benz helped them get down on their knees. But bars were expensive, you had to buy the women drinks, and though some men didn't really go for it, Mike liked to talk before sex. He liked the quick rough sex he got in the bars but he felt there was something arousing about being in the roles of boss and secretary. It was what made Natasha so useful to him, there was no buying drinks or idle chit-chat, he could indulge in the I'm-the-boss routine before taking her over the desk. Plus the girl had got the notion into his head that he was going to divorce Imogene and marry her, Mike allowed her to think it and lavished her with gifts but if she got to clingy he would end it. God knew what Imogene would do if she ever found out! She was hard ass at the best of times but if she caught him cheating on her she would put his balls in a vice. Still he would risk it to go and see Natasha, they'd argued this afternoon because she'd been going on about when he would leave Imogene. He'd put her off and she'd got pissy and wouldn't let him touch her, so he'd pulled the fine-but-don't-expect-a-job-on-Monday routine and left. Now she was back and grovelling, Mike wasn't sure if it was the job or him that brought her back but either way he found it a turn on. It was something he always detested about Imogene's character, she had no give in her.

"Did he," Imogene muttered, she was shutting down her computer and piling her books together, Mike gritted his teeth.

"Yeah, he, ah, said he and Charlotte are having problems … wants me to meet him at the bar," Mike said in a very put upon voice, "you know how it is. He's an old friend and all."

Imogene made a noise of agreement that was far too dismissive for his piece of mind, Mike ignored it and squirted cologne on either side of his neck and wrists. All the while he kept an eye on Imogene through the mirror in front of him, she hadn't looked up or taken notice of him at all. Mike frowned, he was going to be late for Natasha if he kept dawdling, but he found that didn't matter that much at this precise moment.

"Who was that guy today?" he asked casually and watched her reflection to gauge her reaction.

"A friend," she muttered, she was deciding which book to put away, "a new neighbour. Moved into Diana's house."

"With his wife?"

"No, he doesn't have a wife …"

Jealousy and anger swirled in him, Mike glared at her and for the first time in a long time, he saw her. He saw that for all he said to her about her weight, she was still as slender and athletic as she was when she was young. Her body hadn't been stretched out and marked by having loads of kids like the wives of his friends. Her hair wasn't dusted with lots of grey, it was sleek and dark and shiny, she had a few lines but all in all she'd aged extremely well. Better, Mike thought with resentment, then he had, though he had been the one working for a living all these years. He conveniently forgot to remind himself of the fact that he had thrown a tantrum every time she'd mentioned going back to work and that his job involved nothing but sitting on his butt all day, signing papers and ordering less senior employees around. Still he could see what the guy was seeing in his wife and he didn't like it, and though he had always been certain Imogene wouldn't cheat on him, he was feeling rather threatened having seen the handsome, single guy that had moved in.

"And why was he over here with you?" Mike bit out with a hint of demand in his voice, Imogene glanced up at him coldly.

"Being friendly," she said shortly.

"Well, lets hope not too friendly," he hinted and Imogene froze and brought her head up to look at him again, it was a calm, calculating look that chilled him. It was that look that made him wonder frantically if she had any idea about Natasha, it had him saying what he said next.

"I've been thinking, Idgie," he used her pet name to sweeten her, "why don't you and I go on away for the weekend sometime?"

"I thought you were busy?" she sounded shocked and Mike admitted that he had been ignoring her a lot lately.

"Yeah, but we hardly get to see each other anymore and well, I want us to start thinking about where we should retire to. What do you say to that?"

"I'm shocked," Imogene said, though her tone was still cold, she looked at the clock, "you don't want to be late for Paul, Mike."

She picked up her books and left the room, Mike listened to her descend the stairs as he drew on his jacket, he was very unsettled by that exchange and though he had plans with Natasha tonight it crossed his mind whether to cancel.


	3. Chapter 3

Over the next few days Imogene found herself craving Aristotle's company more then ever, they hadn't touched back on the subject of Mike's infidelity but there were times when Imogene felt if she didn't tell him … or someone, she would self-destruct. But when those times past she would just bask in the warmth of Aristotle and pray that he never left Maple Bowers. He had become her life breath and she took to staring over the street at his house when they weren't together, hoping that he was there staring back. At first Imogene thought it was her mind's attempt at retaliation against Mike, like a secret rebellion by being infatuated with another man but towards the end of the second week of Aristotle being in the neighbourhood Imogene knew it was more. As an attempt to keep him close Imogene had surreptitiously persuaded Mari to pester Aristotle into coming to the amateur dramatics group. Mari had done just that while he was having breakfast over Imogene's house.

"Do you like the theatre?" Mari asked casually, she was staring fixatedly at Aristotle's hands, Imogene could see why. There was something utterly hypnotic about his good table manners and his courteous ways.

"I love the theatre," Aristotle replied and Imogene felt a thrill, she too loved the theatre and when she'd been at college she'd regularly attended the one just around the corner from her dorm which offered special prices for students.

"You should really come to the amateur dramatics group one time then," Mari said delightedly and Aristotle raised a haughty eyebrow.

"I said I liked the theatre," he pronounced, "that doesn't mean I want to be an actor."

"No, no, of course not," Mari said quickly, "I meant come to watch. Despite my being stunted in all areas of so called culture, it is rather good. Besides," she added with an air of pride, "we have to go along to cheer on Imogene."

Aristotle choked on his toast, "you're in the play?"

"What's so funny about that?" Mari demanded but Imogene laughed and shook her head.

"I wrote this years play."

The fire of awe and amazement that came from his eyes sent such warmth through Imogene that she thought she would melt the butter in its dish.

"You never told me," he accused but with a smile.

"Oh, she's nothing if not modest, is our Imogene," Mari said sweetly.

"I had to keep it a bit hushed because of Mike causing ructions," she said with a grimace and Aristotle gave her a sour look, "I even had to make a deal with the director that he not tell the cast until the opening night."

"Which is when?"

"This Saturday."

"Next rehearsal?"

"Tonight."

"I'm there," Aristotle said definitely, he raised his cup of coffee in a silent toast and Imogene felt heat flush her cheeks. Mari left a little while later but Aristotle hung around and helped her clear away the plates and breakfast things.

"When did you write this play?"

"At college," Imogene said with a happy smile, "I updated it a bit for this but I thought it would be good for their Autumnal production."

"What's it about?"

Imogene gave a little laugh that was edged with embarrassment, "acceptance, hope … escape."

"Can't wait," Aristotle said quietly, she nudged him.

"You liar."

"Jenny, I would never lie to you."

Imogene gently placed the stack of clean plates on the counter top and looked over at him, he was leaning against the table with his long arms folded across his chest, he was staring at her.

"Everyone lies, Ari," Imogene wasn't sure why she said it but she knew from his face it had made an impact, he inclined his head once and handed her the empty coffee pot, she took it from him and cradled it to her chest.

"Will Mike be coming?" Aristotle asked suddenly, Imogene shook her head.

"Why?" He demanded to know.

"Does it matter?"

Aristotle looked frustrated before speaking, "why are you with him?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Why? You are a fun, bright, beautiful, intelligent woman. You're gutsy and funny and … you light up a room with your smile. Why do you stay with a man that cannot or will not appreciate the wonder that you are?"

Imogene felt her breath catch in her throat and her heart began to tap out a thumping tune against her rib cage.

"Its complicated …"

"No, it is not," Aristotle retorted, "that's why I can't get my head around the reasoning for it because it isn't complicated at all."

"Oh, grow up!" Imogene snapped, "life isn't that way where you can pick up and leave whenever you want to. If it were that easy and there wasn't more involved then just my physical presence being here that I wouldn't have left before this?"

Aristotle sighed and scrubbed his hands through his hair.

"It's one of the hardest things to do … leave everything you've known for over twenty years. Just to go on your own and not come back."

"But you wouldn't be on your own!" Aristotle yelled suddenly, Imogene stared at him as silence descended. The only thing breaking it was the sound of their panting breaths, Aristotle could smell the ocean surrounding Imogene.

"Could you promise me that?" she asked in a way that was more of a challenge, Aristotle paused for far too long and Imogene nodded before turning to put the plates away.

It wasn't that he didn't want to promise her, he wanted to tell her he'd take care of her but there was no getting away from the fact that he was a tiger in disguise. His life was something she would never comprehend, not in her wildest dreams would a tiger be living across the road from her in boring old Maple Bowers.

"Perhaps I should go," Aristotle murmured and moved towards the kitchen door, he turned back when she said his name.

"Yes?"

"I hope we're still friends," Imogene said, trying to keep her voice steady, "I need this friendship."

Aristotle nodded, feeling despairing that he finally wanted something and it was something he just could not have. Imogene wasn't the type of woman to have an affair, she wasn't the type to risk all on someone who couldn't give her a promise that he would even try.

"So do I. More then you know." Then he left.

* * *

Saturday night came and Aristotle sat in the wings with Imogene and watched the play, as the curtains went up he felt her excitement and pride flowing from her in waves. He watched her from the corner of his eyes for some of the night and felt amusement as she mouthed the words the actors were saying. The acting itself was just fair and the directing okay, the props were mediocre. None of it did the playwright any justice, Aristotle could see that from the moment the play started. This was evidence that Imogene was a fantastic writer, even at the young age she'd written the play at, she could have only gotten better with age and experience. The play got a standing ovation from its audience, made up of theatre enthusiasts from Maple Bowers and the neighbouring towns. Aristotle looked over at Imogene when they stood up to leave, she was still watching the actors fluttering hither and thither over the stage, her face was flushed and her smile bright. She was proud and she had damn well better have been, Aristotle wished that he could have taken her to see her play performed on Broadway by trained actors and real directors. She had told him it was about hope and escape and acceptance, all of those things were evident to the educated eye but it was undoubtedly one of the funniest plays he'd ever seen too; Aristotle told her so as he walked her home.

"I can't you believe you wrote that so young," he said enthusiastically, "it's a masterpiece. Honestly! And I really liked how you kept it one room, I love plays like that."

"Thank you," she replied humbly.

"I mean, the message of hope is most hard hitting at the end and sort of in all the irony throughout the play but that scene …" Aristotle began to chuckle.

"The Tom Baker and Mr Patel scene?" Imogene asked Aristotle nodded and wiped his eyes, Imogene tucked her arm in his and they walked along in companionable silence for a while.

"What was you feeling when you wrote that?" Aristotle mused, Imogene smiled and sighed happily, she loved that he asked her questions like that.

"I was young," she said, trying to think back a life time ago, "I was optimistic and I was passionate and impulsive. I wanted my writing to change the world."

"Do you still want that?" Aristotle asked and Imogene shook her head straight away.

"No."

"Really? You don't want it anymore?" he sounded disbelieving.

"I don't want the world, Ari, I just want to be able to live in it."

Aristotle turned his gaze on her and it was intense, like her words disturbed deep thoughts in his buried mind. He looked behind her, and hated that they had reached her house so soon.

"I have something for you," he said softly and Imogene raised her brows in surprise. From his pocket Aristotle drew out an envelope and handed it to her, Imogene frowned in confusion and flicked her gaze to him.

"Open it," he commanded softly.

He watched as she opened the envelope delicately, not at all like him, who would rip the envelope apart without any finesse. She unfolded the deed to his house that he had had transferred into her name, he saw her face change and when she looked up at him she was shocked and confused.

"I don't under-"

"You want a small piece of the world to live in," Aristotle shrugged, "I want to see your books on every shelf, in every city and state. I wanted to give you a gift that you would like. So I thought I'd give you a place where you could live and write forever if you wanted to. A room of ones own, so to say."

Aristotle felt his throat go dry, he wanted her to be pleased but he sensed terrible sadness from her.

"What is it?" he whispered, he saw her shudder as a light speckle of rain hit her hair, when she locked gazes with him her eyes were shining with tears ready to be wept.

"You're leaving?"

Aristotle felt his heart seize up and he nodded, "eventually I will leave here, yes."

Imogene crushed the paper in her hand and let out a small sob, Aristotle stepped forward to take her into his arms but she stepped back and quickly wiped away her tears. Soaking the document with them, she tried to smile at him.

"Thank you," she said, "thank you so much."

Aristotle didn't know what to say, not when he could sense her pain under her smile, he knew he had fallen for her but he had no idea she felt so strongly about him.

"No one has ever been as kind to me as you are," Imogene said softly and Aristotle wanted beg her to return to New York with him.

"Then they were fools," he whispered, she beamed at him through her tears before standing on her tiptoes and planting a firm kiss on his lips. Shock held him immobilised and before he could think to wrap his arms around her body she had tore herself away and whisked up her garden path into the house. The rain fell harder on him now as he stared at the dark eyes of Imogene's home, he turned with a heavy heart and a confused mind to go back to his temporary house. He knew the distance he put between them when he returned to New York would not be enough to stop him missing and craving her. Karina had once accused him of being too human with his feelings, well she was probably right. There had been very few times in his life he had felt so deeply, and never about a woman. But he had also never regretted his human side more then he did now, for it caused pain that no animal should know.

* * *

Imogene threw the bolt on the door after she stepped inside, she was sobbing so hard every breath sounded harsh and raking as though she was fighting to get in enough air. She continued through the darken house, knowing by habit where the stairs were, she descended them one dreaded, lonely step at a time. She paid no thought to whether Mike was in the house, though she sincerely hoped he wasn't because she wanted to be alone right then. She didn't switch on the light as she pushed into the bedroom, instead she dropped on to the bed and curled up on top of the blankets, holding tight to her knees. She pushed off her jacket and shoes while she buried her wet face into her soft quilt. Her life was forever going to be empty and miserable until the day she died, living with someone she was beginning to despise because he was so incompetent and insensitive. She had fallen in love with someone who had a free and open mind, who enjoyed the pleasures of life and liked that she enjoyed them too. She'd fallen in love with someone who couldn't promise her the stability of the life that Mike gave to her, but who she felt for more then she had ever felt for her husband of over twenty years. Her crying soon eased off and Imogene drifted in and out of a light doze that was not peaceful or soothing. When her mind switched on again, Imogene realised she was lying in the darkness, staring up at her blank ceiling. A terrible headache began to build behind her eyes, it was only that which caused Imogene's lethargic limbs to move and take her to her bathroom. The light hurt her sore and swollen eyes and caused her temples to throb painfully, Imogene tried to ignore her reflection but it was hard when she looked like a horror movie come to life. Red, swollen and depressed was not attractive. Imogene cast her eyes down and fixed them on the tap so she would not have to see herself out of the corner of her eye, she reached blindly for the headache tablets that she always kept on the second shelf next to the mirror.

When was he leaving? She wondered and felt her lip tremble, how would she be able to say goodbye to him after she'd all but broken down when he'd revealed he was leaving? How humiliating!

Imogene winced at the thought and her little finger caught the top of the pill bottle and sent it falling from the shelf, end over end until it hit the fluffy carpet and burst open, sending pills scattering everywhere. Cursing the world and all the people in it, Imogene fell to her knees and began to gather them despondently, one capsule at a time. She felt behind the wicker laundry basket, leaning her face against the smooth woven reeds, she caught the capsule between her forefinger and thumb and drew back, at the same moment her eyes slid over the surface of the basket. Amongst the many white towels was a speck of red that caused Imogene to pause … no, not red exactly. It was more faded then that, perhaps a dark pink …

Imogene reached in and grabbed directly at the pink stain and pulled, from the depths of her linen basket came Mike's white t-shirt. It was the kind he sometimes wore under his work shirts and tie, Imogene spread it out over her knees and stared at the stain. A perfect pair of lipstick lips stared back at her in coral pink lipstick, Imogene raised the shirt to her nose and sniffed, up shot a heavy scent of feminine perfume. She let it drop from her hands and let go of the bottle of pills that promptly spilt everywhere again. She was hurt, it was true, for Mike had gotten so sloppy he had now allowed her to find physical evidence of his betrayal. His marriage meant so little to him that he did not go the extra mile to stop his wife finding out. Yet it somehow empowered Imogene also, the proof that Mike was stupid enough to get caught and was lazy and insensitive enough to get caught by something as clichéd as lipstick on the shirt, gave Imogene the strength of will and the decisiveness to do what she wanted. Imogene shot to her feet and ran down the stairs, almost tripping down the last five or so. She stumbled to the door and wrenched it open, letting in the pelting rain that had gotten harder while she had dozed on the bed. She jumped the porch steps and raced across the street in bare feet, if they were looking out of their windows no doubt some of the older neighbours would likely think her a brazen whore for turning up on another man's doorstep in the rain with no shoes on. Imogene's mind refused to dwell on what anyone else might think, say or see and slammed her fist against Aristotle's door. The rain rushed down on her, soaking her shirt to her skin and making her hair straggly, she pushed it out of her eyes as she craned her neck to see if his lights were on in the upper storey. Imogene looked back when she heard loud footsteps and the door swung open, Aristotle stood before her, looking more handsome then he'd ever been in black sweats and a muscle t-shirt. His hair was mussed as if he had been asleep yet his eyes were alert and unclouded as though he had been tossing and turning.

"Imogene?" he said, immediately opening the door wide and stretching out his hand to her, Imogene didn't take it. She just stared at it as she fought the tears in her eyes and the lump in her throat.

"He's screwing her," she spoke over the drumming of the rain, "you were right, he is having an affair."

Aristotle's eyes became dark with sympathy and he softly thrust his hand to her, this time she slipped her hand in his warm, dry one and allowed him to gently bring her inside.

Aristotle was surprised to see Imogene, he didn't think she would want to see him, especially since they'd parted in such a weird way earlier that evening. But he sat her on the couch in the living room, the thick drapes were drawn and he built the fire, it made the room glowing and toasty. He turned from stoking the blaze to see Imogene sitting on his couch, she looked unbelievably small and fragile as she sank into the overly plumped and softened cushions. She sat in his long, black, terry cloth dressing gown, solemnly and quietly drying her hair with a towel. It did something to his protective male instincts to see her wearing his clothes, it aroused the dominance in him which made it all the harder to sit next to her on the couch and not pull her into his arms.

"Now," he said evenly, "tell me everything."

Imogene drew the towel away from her damp hair and shrugged, Aristotle avoided looking at the bared flesh of her shoulder.

"His secretary," Imogene said with a sigh, "Natasha."

"Bastard!" Aristotle snarled and Imogene gave him the ghost of a smile.

"I found out … the day you came here …"

"So that's why you were crying," Aristotle had assumed as much.

"Sort of," Imogene murmured, "I suspected him of being unfaithful and finding out hurt … a lot. But … that's not what made me go psycho."

Imogene drew in a long shuddering breath before continuing.

"I had spent my whole life building a home for this man, sacrificing my dreams and ambitions. For him I lived a life that I never wanted and that I was never really happy in. And I only stayed in it because I thought it would be churlish and unfair to my loving husband to complain. Not when there were worse things."

Imogene's face, made strangely more attractive by the darkness and shadow there, grew tight and angry looking.

"I am a proud woman, Aristotle," she said her voice full of suppressed fury, "I always have been. But for a long time I lost that pride, and I despise myself for it. It's a weakness I can't abide yet I lived with it for so long … so long."

Aristotle reached over to the table where two glasses and a bottle of red wine sat, he filled both until half full and gave one to Imogene.

"Have you let him know that you know?" Aristotle found that anticipation was building in him as he listened to her, he didn't know what he wanted her to say exactly, only right then his mind was telling him she was potentially his.

"No," Imogene said indifferently as she sipped her wine, "the idiot is never stands still long enough for me to say it. Besides … for a while I toyed with the idea of whether to just stay and turn a blind eye … or gather all the evidence I could and take half of everything he owns in a divorce."

Aristotle laughed, "vengeance is sweet," he agreed but Imogene shrugged again.

"I don't care anymore," she said definitely, "I'm done. I'm getting out. I've wasted so many years of my life existing in this place. If I don't get out now I never will, and then I'll lose my mind."

"Where will you go?" Aristotle asked, her words were sad and were only made sadder to him because he had often had similar lines of thought running through his own head, about his own life. Especially after Karina died and he'd had to lose Wren for all those years. It had all been for the best but even so … sometimes when you win you lose.

"I have no idea," Imogene laughed, "and quite frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn … I had started losing my respect and affection for Mike years ago, I can't believe I was such a coward and actually stayed."

"Well, you are making up for it now," Aristotle said and was happy when it brought a smile to her face, she took a long drink from her glass and sighed contentedly. Snuggling down into his robe, she laid her head back on the couch and stared at him through sexy, half opened eyes.

"When will you leave?" Imogene asked him and Aristotle shrugged, it was what had kept sleep from carrying him into oblivion. He wasn't sure when or how to leave for the best, as far as he was concerned he had disordered Imogene's life. Though now she was shaking loose of her marital chains, he wondered what to do in the best interests of Imogene.

Aristotle turned in his seat so he could face her, his glass of wine held loose and forgotten in his hand, he reached out and stroked at her hair. To his surprise she did not shy away, instead she leant her arm back and deposited her glass on a side table behind her. Her hand free she captured his and brought it to her lips, kissing at his palm and fingers.

"Come with me back to New York, Jenny," Aristotle said, it was more of demand then question, he saw worry flicker in her eyes. "Please, Jenny … Imogene. Please, come with me."

"But I - I don't really know you," she said, her voice a thin thread, Aristotle found it adorable and cradled the side of her head in his palm.

"I know," Aristotle said desperately, "I know you don't but … if you came we could try. I have never felt for another woman the way I feel for you and that includes my wife. I never loved her."

"Are you saying you love me?" Imogene asked quietly as though she couldn't quite believe it, Aristotle felt his heart kick up a gear.

"Yes. Yes, I am," Aristotle replied sincerely, "I know its crazy and it hasn't been long …"

Aristotle trailed off in to silence, the enormity of what he had just said hitting him. He was promising himself to a human who wasn't his mate and would never be his mate because Were-Hunters very rarely got a second chance at mating. Then there was the fact that he was a completely different species to her, that he couldn't sleep without morphing into a tiger. It was so complicated and fraught with all kinds of difficulty yet now he had promised himself Aristotle knew he could not break her heart by taking it back. Aristotle sat with bated breath watching Imogene bite anxiously at her lower lip, slowly she raised her large, solemn eyes to him.

"What will your son say?" Imogene asked worriedly and Aristotle felt his cheeks almost split as he smiled wide, he leant forward and laid his lips firmly on hers.

"He will adore you," Aristotle said into her face that was cupped in his large hands, his voice was full of excitement and laughter. Aristotle knew it was selfish to allow her to care for him when he wasn't being honest with her. If she knew the truth of him Imogene would very likely not be sitting there naked and vulnerable to him under his robe, planning to let him whisk her away. But Aristotle had been mated once before. He knew that mating did not equate to love or even affection, in fact, as in his case, it could be dangerous and explosive. Aristotle didn't think it was fair that the Fates had landed him with Karina, and since they had given him such a crappy deal he thought it rather reasonable that he make his own destiny and his own happiness - with Imogene. Imogene nodded, smiling happily, Aristotle leant forward and this time took care as he kissed her, making sure they were both involved in the act. He'd never gotten to enjoy the kisses they had experienced before, now Aristotle made sure they both felt the sensual heat created between the fusing of their mouths, each tasting the other's lips and tongue. Aristotle's hands left Imogene's face and trailed down over the bumps of her breasts concealed under the downy robe, to the belt tied tightly across her waist. Aristotle broke the kiss so he could pull back and watch as the belt pulled free, he heard Imogene's sharp intake of breath, the belt slipped off of her and Aristotle stroked his finger down the slit of the robe, parting it. He placed the flat of his hand into the folds, his palm feeling the soft, warm flatness that was Imogene's stomach, he allowed it to travel back upwards towards her twin peaks. Aristotle's eyes followed in the wake of his hands as they travelled up a road of wonderfully succulent flesh, his gaze feasting on the skin that he revealed. Aristotle found her right breast under the lapel and moulded his hand around it while giving his wrist a gently shrug to push that side of the robe off of her. He felt her gasp rather then heard it and flicked his gaze up to see an almost frightened look upon her face, she feared his reaction to her body that in her mind wasn't as young or as desirable as it once was.

"You are so beautiful, Jenny," Aristotle assured her, "just beautiful."

* * *

Imogene let her breath out slowly and nodded, she tilted her head back so it lay on the arm of the couch, she slid her body down further so she lay flat out, her movements pulling the material away from her body until her naked front was fully exposed to his gaze. Aristotle watched her with a smile as she fought with her inhibitions, she leant her head back so that her neck was straining and the vein in her throat pumped with a rapid and excited pulse. Unable to resist he moved forward and latched his teeth firmly on her vein without breaking the skin, he felt her body arch and he tightened his grip upon her breast. Aristotle pulled back slightly so he could keep his lips on her but look at her face, her mouth had dropped open in surprise and her cheeks had slashes of crimson across them. Her scent was like the finest, headiest wine in his nose, spiced and dark was the scent of her extreme arousal.

"When do I get to see you?" Imogene breathed, her legs sawing against one another, the sound of her thighs rubbing together had the blood pounding hard in Aristotle's cock.

"When I'm finished making you scream," Aristotle whispered back and was rewarded with a throaty laugh, he pulled back to admire his handiwork. On the side of her neck was a love bite purpling against her pale skin, Aristotle kneaded Imogene's breast firmly and was delighted when a straggled moan launched from her throat while her back bent into a perfect arch that had him thinking of some very unorthodox positions.

"Flexible, aren't you?" he murmured, astonished and aroused, she just chuckled darkly and continued her agitated movements. Aristotle took his time with her, it was really for his benefit that he ran his hands over her body, his eager, searching fingers tantalisingly skipping over the most erotic parts in order to tease her. Should Imogene have gotten bored he would have gone to work on her immediately but by her scent and her reactions to his touch it seemed like she was revelling in his exploration. Aristotle leant in and engaged in long drugging kisses that were designed to have her going limp and liquid in his arms, she did just that. Her rigidly bent spine became like jelly as she sank down into the pillows once more and her legs sawed against one another in a lazy, sluggish way. Aristotle stroked a feathery touch up her thighs while his tongue worked a slippery slow dance with hers, he parted her thighs with his hand very, very slowly, Imogene let them fall apart without even realising it since she was so wrapped up in the kiss, baffled and awed at how a man could be so intense and concentrated on one kiss that she felt she were fading away from all reality. Aristotle stroked his two fingers so softly over her sex, it was wet but his touch was so light that she barely felt it. Instead her sex and her entire lower half seemed to quiver with anticipation, Aristotle waited for a feeling in her body that was slow and languid, a softness almost akin to slumber. Then he plunged his middle finger into her waiting, soaking sex and watched her eyes go from sleepy half mast to wide, shocked and excited. Her body began to convulse immediately, she pulled her lips away from his to let out an erotic half gasp half laugh, her hips began to grind furiously against his thrusting hand. Aristotle added another finger and laughed when Imogene threw her head back and let out a throaty cry as she came. He worked her body until the last tremors racked her and still kept his fingers buried deep inside of her after that.

Imogene drew her head up and gave him a devilish smile, Aristotle thrust his fingers hard and caught her gasp in his mouth, biting at her lip as he pulled away.

"I think we'll try that again," Aristotle purred in her ear and drew away to see Imogene nodding her head with her eyes closed, her lips pressed hard together, she made a noise of agreement.

"This time though …" Aristotle withdrew his hand even though Imogene clamped her thighs around it to keep it in place.

Aristotle laughed and with quick, efficient movements yanked her to his chest and stripped his robe from her, discarding it on the floor. He let her fall back into the softness before standing up and stripping before her. Never before had he been so proud of his body, Were-Hunters were generally always handsome and had excellent physiques, so inherent was it in them that Aristotle had never stopped to think about how he was viewed by the opposite sex. But there was such a flaring in the scent of Imogene's arousal as he pulled off his shirt and pants that Aristotle felt himself grow harder at the feel of her eyes upon him.

Aristotle took hold of Imogene by the leg and spun her so that she was sitting up right on the couch, Aristotle knelt before her slightly parted knees and using both hands parted them, as if prying open the doors to a vault of magnificent jewels.

Imogene had never known such heated arousal to bloom so fast in her core, it was like a bubbling supernova between her legs. She watched with bated breath as Aristotle reached out blindly for something behind her and brought back a glass of wine, all the while his eyes fixed on her throbbing core which made her hotter then ever. Aristotle had the best body of any man she'd ever seen, better in fact then some men half his age, and so much better then Mike's. She'd always known he'd been in good shape and trim when he had his clothes on, it had been what made her so anxious about making love with him. But Aristotle soothed her, not so much with his words, but the sincerity of his expression when he'd told her she was beautiful. After having her husband cheat on her, her confidence had taken a slight knock and Imogene admitted that though she might be in good shape for her age, she wasn't going to win Miss America anytime soon … unless it was Miss America hosted in the geriatric ward

Aristotle raised the glass with a mischievous look in his eyes, "open wide."

Imogene grinned before leaning her head forward, tipping her head back and opening her mouth, allowing him to pour the liquid down her throat. All the while she kept her eyes on him, watching him stare transfixed at her mouth and throat as she swallowed. His hand shook and the wine dribbled down her chin in a seductive red line that Aristotle wiped away with his tongue. Imogene licked her lips and sat back against the cushions, eyeing him like a tigress, she slid down in her seat a little and felt the effect of the wine take hold of her brain. Or perhaps it wasn't the wine, perhaps it was that she was deliriously happy for the first time in … forever?

Aristotle drew back naughtily and tilted the glass again so more splashed over her breasts this time, again he went after it, doing the best cleaning job ever as he lapped and sucked energetically at her skin. He did the same over her stomach, lapping at her so expertly that Imogene moaned long and loud and her toes curled into the carpet.

"You'll stain your sofa," Imogene said with mock levity, not giving a damn about the thing, Aristotle raised his startlingly bright eyes and grinned wickedly before tipping the rest of the contents in her lap. Trickles of crimson liquid ran through the creases of her thighs and down on to her most private part, mixing with her juices. Imogene's eyes grew wide as she watched him lower his head toward her sex, she widened her legs even though a part of her was disconcerted at being so open and vulnerable to him. Aristotle did not seem to mind, he dove straight in without the least bit of gentility that was so innate to him, instead he was like a beast ravaging his well-caught meal. He lapped long and firmly at her, his tongue strangely rough and all the more pleasurable for it, Imogene gripped hard at the edge of the sofa cushions, wanting to rip them to pieces because the sensations were so good. Aristotle cupped her butt, which had also become damp from the wine, and raised her from the seat so she was closer to his mouth. He stiffened his tongue and pushed it inside of her, wriggling it in a way that had Imogene gripping his short, silky hair and holding him to her. She felt and heard him laugh against her before sucking hard on her bud, it was that which had Imogene exploding over and over again, in one long, continuous orgasm that she screamed her way through, calling Aristotle's name.

When she'd come down from the ceiling Imogene was panting heavily and hissing as Aristotle pressed delicate butterfly kisses to the top of her sex, his middle finger worked inside of her.

"Mmm …" he moaned against her, making her wriggle, "better then champagne."

Imogene laughed happily and loudly but in truth she was in awe of him, Mike had never liked giving oral sex and so whenever they had made love she would always be left doing all the work. She found it sexy and special that she had just received a mind-blowing orgasm from it, by a man who worked his tongue with connoisseurs skill. Aristotle got up from his knees which were red and imprinted from the carpet and knelt on the edge of the couch between Imogene's thighs. This forced Imogene to pull her legs up and wrap them around his sides, this seemed to please him immensely and even more so when Imogene tilted her hips and brought the head of his massive arousal against her slippery, silky opening that craved their union.

"More?" Aristotle asked playfully and Imogene grinned in response.

"I demand it," she retorted.

"I am most willing to yield to such a demand," he answered her before gripping her behind her thighs and pushing slowly into her heat. Imogene hissed when he sank into her and began to work her hips with him when he began to pound in hard, even strokes.

This time when she came Aristotle pressed a beautiful kiss over each eye before joining her in paradise.

"We'll make this work, Imogene," Aristotle panted into her neck, his body still hard and twitching inside her, "I swear, it will work between us."

* * *

Imogene lay on her side staring at the wall of Aristotle's bedroom, it was Diana's old room. Imogene had given little thought to the fact that she had just had great sex all over her old friend's house. A part of Imogene did believe that Diana would have approved since the old spinster had complained of the fact that her house was so without life. Aristotle's arm was thrown over her waist and he was pressed intimately against her spine, his face nestled into her back and shoulder. Imogene had initially been worried when they had begun to make love, Mike had been her first lover and she had been faithful to him through those many years, no matter how much she had been attracted to or pursued by other men. Three hours later and Imogene was no longer shy, her libido had soared when her body came into contact with Aristotle, her sexuality and femininity like a live furnace under her skin, responding to everything that Aristotle did to her. The rain, like their love making, had continued frequently through the night in heavy and thunderous bouts, it was now a fine drizzle that could be just heard over their light breathing.

"You're quiet," Aristotle stated, Imogene had deduced from his stillness that he'd fallen asleep, apparently not. She smiled and rubbed her thumb against the hair on his forearm, she felt like she was dreaming while awake.

"So are you," she responded quietly playful.

"I was waiting for you to speak."

"And I you."

She felt his lips curl into a smile against her skin and then felt his arm pulling her on to her other side to face him. He kept his arms around her, moving them in slow, erotic strokes up and down her spine and over her ass. Imogene flicked her eyes up to see Aristotle looking sleepily down into her face, she played her fingers lightly in the swirls of blond hair covering his chest.

"Are you okay?" Aristotle asked her and Imogene took a deep shuddering breath, she knew he was asking a deeper question. Not okay as in 'was the sex okay?' or 'was I too rough?' okay, it was asking 'are we still on for the future' okay?

"Yes, I am," Imogene responded, knowing that this was right for her, even if it never worked out with Aristotle, at least she had had the courage to leave, because Imogene now knew that staying with Mike, even if they both knew it was a pretence, was not an option anymore. Aristotle's body relaxed and he laid his lips at the hollow of her throat, Imogene laughed as she felt his body stir, she couldn't believe how virile he was. For a middle aged man, to go more then twice a week was good, but Aristotle didn't seem to have an off switch. Which for Imogene, believe it or not, was a breath of fresh air. Her love life with Mike had only been satisfactory and though she'd never had anything to compare it to, Imogene had gotten the feeling over time that she was missing out - boy, was she! And it wasn't all in, thrust and out again with Aristotle, there was a lot more playing involved … with every part of the body. He liked foreplay. He liked to use his mouth and teeth, he liked to tease and fondle, he liked finding a spot that drove a woman wild and then pushed her to her ultimate limit. Imogene realised he had probably had many lovers, who were likely to be far superior to her in love-making, it made her feel inadequate, as if she hadn't pleased him.

"What's up?" Aristotle muttered distractedly as he kissed and nibbled at her bare shoulder, Imogene made a contented noise.

"What?"

"You're not into this," his voice was muffled against her skin, Imogene furrowed her brows.

"I so am …" she said and hissed when his teeth came down firmly on the rise of her breast, Aristotle pulled back and shook his head, his wasn't smiling yet there was still something playful in the way he was with her.

"No, your mind is somewhere else," he said, Imogene frowned, how did he know? "And it makes me worried - suspicious - and - jealous."

He punctuated each word with a kiss to her breasts, Imogene cupped his head to her smiling, when he raised himself up on his elbows to look at her she was struck by just how handsome he really was.

"I was just thinking …" Imogene muttered, her eyes focused on the way his hair looked velvety, she raised her hand to run through it, she'd never felt any human who's hair had been so soft.

"About?" he prompted, Imogene snapped her eyes back to his and rested her hand between his shoulder blades.

"That I've been rather selfish with you," she remarked, "you were very … generous and I felt like I was taking and giving nothing back."

Aristotle laughed, "believe me, that was not how it was at all."

Aristotle rolled on to his back and yawned widely, his jaw cracking, he turned his head so he could face Imogene, who was looking seductively sleepy.

"Where I come from it is the duty and privilege of the male to serve a female, it's the way I was raised."

Imogene laughed at him, her eyes brimming with mirth, Aristotle smiled also but little did she know he was telling the truth. But how could she possibly understand that as a Were-Hunter male, it was a shame and disgrace not to serve a woman well when she takes you to her bed. He was a creature of habit, programmed with the need to please his woman until she could no longer stand it and pushed him away. But Imogene did not push him away. It did something warm and tender to his heart at the thought that she was worried she hadn't pleased him, but that was the human woman for you, most unlike the Katagaria. He'd had sex with human women before but they had been one night stands and that in itself was a form of being used, most of the time you didn't care about what the other party wanted so long as you got those few moments of coital bliss.

"You sound like a Neanderthal."

"You like it," Aristotle insisted, taking her hand and leading it down to where he was hard and raging for her. Imogene bit her lip as she took him in both hands and worked him, getting as excited as Aristotle when he moaned out loud and began to pump his hips.

* * *

Imogene showered quickly and gave Aristotle a quick kiss goodbye while she ran over to her house, it was early in the morning but not so early that she was safe from being caught by nosy neighbours.

"Why are you worrying?" Aristotle had asked, "you're going to be leaving here soon."

Imogene could hear the suspicious worry in his voice and soothed him as best she could, silently amused that he thought she would actually change her mind. But one couldn't just snap out of the habit of trying to keep up appearances for the neighbours when it had been something she'd striven to do as Mike's wife for years. Plus, she had never been one for hanging her dirty laundry out in public, so to speak. Imogene turned at her porch and saw Aristotle watching her from his bedroom window across the street, he looked dark and brooding as he leant his forearm against the pane. Imogene delicately and discreetly pulled away the collar of her shirt to reveal the vivid love bite at her throat, she covered it quickly and rushed inside but not before she checked his expression. Yep, his wicked grin was all over his sexy face.

Imogene bounded upstairs, trying to remember where her suitcase was, it had been years since she'd used it. She moved cautiously towards the bedroom, stuck her head around the door, it was empty and unbelievably Imogene was happy that Mike had chosen to spend the night at Natasha's house. Without care or thought for the little trinkets that she'd collected over a lifetime with Mike, Imogene hastily emptied her draws and wardrobe into two suitcases, she knew she would have to leave behind precious things, such as her books but as far as she was concerned - and Imogene could believe she was even thinking it - it was worth it.

"Where were you all night?"

Imogene nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard Mike's voice, she turned to see him leaning against the frame of the bedroom door. His voice had been calm but his face was quietly angry, which had always been Mike's way, his anger was never explosive or physical, but insidious, brooding and simmering over hours or days until it was enough to cause Imogene to crack under the strain of it. Imogene stood upright and dropped whatever she had in her hands into the holdall she had opted to take rather then a third suitcase.

"Mike … we need to talk," Imogene said, her heart beating so fast she thought she might faint, she wasn't scared of him per se … in fact Imogene wasn't sure why she was so scared.

"Yes, we must," Mike agreed tonelessly and came forward, he sat on the delicate seat in front of her vanity table. He looked incongruous on it, even though he had stood by it a thousand times before, he had never actually sat on the seat. Aristotle would though, of that Imogene was quite sure, and she was also quite sure that he would not look out of place surrounded by her things. As stupid a thought as it was at a time such as this, Imogene could not get it out of her head that the incongruity of Mike sitting at her vanity table amongst her things, epitomised everything their relationship was and had ever been. They had been living separate lives, her side of the room and his side of the room, her likes and his dislikes, never once bending or venturing into each others world. Instinctively Imogene knew that Aristotle would not be like that towards his wife, he would look natural holding his wife's delicate perfume bottles in his large hands, as his wife would look not only natural but welcome in his big, over sized shirts.

Mike leant forward so that his elbows were on his knees, his hands clasped before him, he looked huge and masculine with his head hanging, his face downcast and his shirt sleeves rolled up to his mid forearm.

"I'm leaving you," Imogene blurted out abruptly, she hadn't meant to let it come out so quickly or so tactlessly but then she'd never been a believer in mixing words. Mike didn't move, in fact his body was a picture of tranquillity, until he raised his head …

His expression was one of shock and shuddering anger, he fixed his watery eyes on Imogene, the water there was of anger and not of grief.

"_You _are leaving me?" Mike asked, the emphasise he placed on the word 'you' made her teeth grind, Imogene nodded.

"For who?"

"I'm leaving because -" Imogene began, but Mike slammed his hand down on the vanity table, their wedding picture in a solid silver tiffany frame hit the floor, it broke even though it hit soft carpet.

"For who?" Mike demanded, his voice trembling with rage. Imogene bit down on the inside of her cheek, now she was pissed. His need to know who she was leaving him for as opposed to why ticked her off, because she knew he still possessed the idea that she was too dumb to know he'd been screwing around on her. His pride was hurt now more then his heart. Imogene also didn't like being made to look like the promiscuous, never happy, money grabbing trophy wife that traded her guy in for a younger model - which wasn't true because Aristotle was the same age as she and Mike … he just looked a lot better.

"You know who," Imogene said bluntly, refusing to be made the guilty party and play silly games with him.

"That prick across the street!" Mike exploded, shooting up from the stool, spittle flying from his lip, Imogene closed her eyes and then opened them again slowly, fixing him with a powerful glare.

"Yes," she said, every bit of defiance she possessed sounding smug in her voice, "that's the one."

"You whore!" Mike screamed.

"Well, then I'm no worse then Natasha," Imogene retorted sharply and Mike was struck dumb for a moment.

"Hup - uck …" Mike gurgled noises in the back of his throat, and stuttered out stupid sounds before managing a sentence, "what do you mean?"

Imogene gave an incredulous laugh as she shook her head at him and continued packing, he was still standing there mute and disbelieving.

"Look, this is a mistake -" Mike began but Imogene couldn't be bothered with the excuses or the pleading that was likely to come, she just marched into the bathroom and in the process of putting all her toiletries into her vanity case with one sweep of her arm, she also picked up the incriminating undershirt. She retuned to the bedroom and threw it at him, it slapped against his chest and Mike looked down at what he held. He saw the stain straight away, she saw him in her peripheral vision close his eyes with a pained expression, knowing he'd been caught out.

"I can explain," he began.

"No, you can lie," Imogene corrected him a little joyfully, which was rather perverse considering that their marriage was crumbling before them. "Which you are very good at, but I don't want to hear it."

Imogene zipped the bag up sharply before straightening and turning to look at Mike, strength and courage replacing her initial nerves and fear.

"I want a divorce," she stated calmly, looking him dead set in the eyes, "I don't want half of anything, I don't even want alimony. I just want to leave here and never come back."

"Imogene, I am so sorry," Mike said, guilt written clearly on his face, "I don't know what happened. I want you to know that Natasha was the one that pursued me, I didn't plan for this to happen."

"Of course not," Imogene said icily, "I believe you. Because that phone call to this house was enlightening to say the least about who held the reigns in the relationship."

Mike was silent, Imogene put her bag over her shoulder and picked up a suitcase in each hand. The look of finality on her face, and no doubt the picture of permanence the suitcases represented, galvanised Mike into action. He raced to the doorway and blocked it, Imogene gave him the look of a stern teacher to an over excited child.

"I don't want you to go!" he said, almost crying, "I'm sorry, just let me work this out. I can change, I can -"

"No, Mike!" Imogene yelled over him, he stopped and just looked at her, "I don't love you anymore … and you don't love me, and we haven't for a very long time."

Imogene put down her bags and sighed, "you're not a bad man, okay? You are just a shit husband and I don't want to live like this anymore."

Mike looked as if he'd been slapped, he moved aside his face contorting and twisting uglily with rage.

"You think he'll stay with you, whore!" Mike sneered at her as she bent to pick up her bags again, Imogene looked up at him shocked, she'd never seen the truly vicious, snide side of him before, just goes to show even marriage doesn't guarantee you know someone. She picked up her bags and carried on walking, out the bedroom and down the landing.

"He'll fuck you and leave you, you bitch! He'll be looking for someone else soon, just like me. Because you are old and shit in bed, and everyone of the women I have ever been with have all tasted and felt better then you ever could."

He's ugliness would have made Imogene cry had she been a weaker person but she just turned at the top of the stairs and gave him a grow up look.

"Tell me, Mike," Imogene asked coldly, "how does Natasha cope with all the erectile dysfunctions and premature ejaculations? I suppose, three hundred dollars a go eases the burn, huh?"

Mike stepped forward threateningly, calling her the vilest of names and curses, but before he could do anything Imogene felt someone at her back.

"Get the fuck out of my house! What are you doing in my house!" Mike screamed at Aristotle, who gave him a disgusted look.

"Taking my woman," he responded glibly and picked up Imogene's suitcases, Mike waited until Aristotle's hands were full before advancing threateningly on him. Imogene gasped but before Mike did anything to him, Aristotle gave him a dangerous look.

"Don't," Aristotle said in a deadly voice, one so full of power that even Imogene shivered and Mike immediately stopped, Aristotle looked at Imogene.

"Come on," he said firmly and Imogene followed obediently, too shocked at what had just happened between the two men to think of doing anything else. Once outside Imogene turned to Aristotle, who's face told her that had she not been there he would have gone toe to toe with Mike, but that only proved what a gentleman he was.

"I thought you were going to stay across the street and let me do my thing?" she said, slightly irritated that he didn't think she could handle herself.

"Right, I'm going to let you face that alone," Aristotle said sarcastically, Imogene narrowed her eyes on him and Aristotle's lips twitched, he jerked his head towards his house - or more accurately, her house. Imogene hitched her bag higher on her shoulder and followed with a smile on her face. She didn't even look back.


	4. Chapter 4

Aristotle dropped the suitcases inside the door and closed it behind Imogene as she came in, she was looking around the place as if she'd never been inside before. He disappeared into the kitchen to kitchen and poured two glasses of brandy, when he came back she had wandered from the hall into the sitting room looking lost. He came up beside her and she accepted the glass with a small smile but she didn't drink and neither did he. Aristotle wished he could read her thoughts rather then emotions, but if they were anything to go by her mind was in turmoil and, to his distress, she was saddened.

"Regrets?" Aristotle asked with a heavy heart but he sounded calm, Imogene shook her head and sipped her drink, Aristotle sighed.

"But your sad," he said and Imogene frowned at him, "I can tell …"

"Not about being with you," she said sincerely and Aristotle was relieved to smell truth from her, he brushed a strand of hair from her face.

"Then why?"

"I'm sad because it ended in such an ugly way, and -" Imogene's voice quivered, "and that I spent untold years with a man who could say such things … a man I didn't know."

Aristotle drew her near and she came willingly into his arms, he didn't say anything, he just held her.

"When are we leaving?" Imogene asked meekly against him, she sounded tired almost as if she were falling asleep standing up, her cheek pressed against his chest. Aristotle bent his head to deposit a kiss on her hair, he took her glass from her, in case it fell from her grasp, and placed it on the table. Then he took her face in his hands, stroking his thumbs under her eyes, she closed them and leant her cheek into his palm, her face looked soothed, almost tranquil.

"Very soon."

Aristotle nodded to the stairs, "you need to sleep."

"What about you?" Imogene whispered, involuntarily she tightened her grip on his shirt, when she realised what she did she let go with a grimace. Aristotle didn't seem to mind, he smiled and kissed her forehead.

"I'm going to arrange our flight tickets and let my lawyers know they'll be dealing with a divorce soon," he grimaced before adding apologetically, "I'm sorry if that was insensitive and I completely understand if its to soon to think -"

Imogene cut him short by kissing him and nodded serenely before ascending the stairs to the bedroom, she turned at the top to see him staring up at her, he smiled at her and she waved at him then disappeared into the bedroom that they'd made love in all night. Imogene barely had the energy to strip down to her underwear, she slipped under the quilt and before she could sort her thought into any type of coherent pattern; she was asleep.

* * *

When she awoke the sun was setting, Imogene looked at the other side of the bed and expected to find that Aristotle had come up and slipped in while she was asleep. He hadn't. Imogene swept her hand over the cold, barren sheet and sighed, she didn't know if her life was a mess or not, and if it was she wasn't sure if she should feel so happy about having nothing substantial to hold on to in her time of life. Imogene threw the covers back and got out of the bed, she shivered when the cold air touched her skin and was tempted to dive back under the quilt. But she didn't want to stay in bed all day, so she wrapped herself in Aristotle's dressing gown and left the bedroom. She moved noiselessly down the carpeted stairs and looked into the living room, Aristotle wasn't there. She frowned but without a word sought him in the kitchen. Imogene smiled when she found him there, he was messing around with the coffee machine switch. Imogene didn't want to admit to herself how worried she was that he had up and left her. Leaning against the frame she smiled to herself as she watched him struggle to work the appliance. As his hand touched the switch on the wall socket it sparked and a flash of electricity snapped at Aristotle's fingers. Imogene screamed as the strength of the shock blew Aristotle back and off his feet, she immediately ran to his aid.

"Oh my god!" Imogene cried, her hands going to her mouth, on the floor where she expected to find Aristotle lay a fully grown tiger. It shook its head to clear it and looked up at her, its big, blue eyes were dazed then abruptly snapped into focus. The roar of alarm it let out had Imogene fleeing at full speed to the door, with no idea where she intended to go. Just as she reached the front door, a hand leant over her shoulder and pushed the door shut. Imogene screamed again, a large, manly hand covered her mouth and turned her around. With wild eyes she stared up at Aristotle, unable to believe what her mind saw. She wasn't even within arms length of a lamp that she could smack over his head to stun him while she got out of the door. Imogene's eyes teared up fearing that she was about to meet death.

"Imogene, don't be afraid," Aristotle begged her, his face white and frightened, "please, I won't hurt you."

Imogene hadn't the wits to even speak, she just gazed at him still seeing a tiger where he should have been.

"I didn't tell you what I was because I thought you'd be afraid. I wasn't going to tell you in case you thought I would hurt you. I never wanted you to find out like this."

Imogene heard his panicked babble but could not quite understand it, she recognised her mind was going into shock as it was happening. Aristotle was breathing heavily, he pulled her away from the door into the living room. Imogene gave a muffled shriek when she saw the curtains close on the windows of their own accord, fresh tears of fear streamed down her face.

"I'm going to let go of you now, Jenny, okay?" Aristotle said soothingly, "I promise I won't hurt you, but just give me time to explain, alright? Okay? 'Kay, I'm letting go now …"

Aristotle gently peeled his palm away from Imogene's mouth and loosened his grip on her body, as soon as he did Imogene could not stop herself from running to the door. She got all of three steps and Aristotle was on her again, clamping his strong arms around her body and over her mouth.

"Please, Imogene!" Aristotle begged, Imogene became still when she realised he was resting his forehead against her hair, "please."

Imogene heard him clear his throat and when he spoke it sounded like he was desperately trying to remain calm.

"I'm going to try that again, okay?"

When he let go of her the second time, Imogene stayed where she was, she backed up a few steps and turned to face him. He was eyeing her warily, Imogene eyed him up and down, wondering if she had gone mad but knowing she hadn't.

"What … what are you?" Imogene couldn't keep a trace of disgust out of her voice and Aristotle winced.

"I'm a … they call us … we're called Were-Hunters," he responded with some difficulty.

"We? There are more?" Imogene felt faint.

"Hundreds."

"What do you want from me?" Imogene asked and Aristotle looked dumbstruck, he grappled for words, his hands spread out and imploring.

"Nothing," he denied emphatically, "I want nothing from you, Imogene. I just … I want to be with you. I'm in love with you."

Imogene almost whimpered, wondering what it was that she too had fallen in love with, had made love with.

"Are you going to hurt me?" she asked in a dreadful whisper, Aristotle had to hold on to the wall to stop himself from approaching her, it would most likely scare her more.

"No!" Aristotle cried, "no, never! Never, ever would I hurt you, Imogene."

She still looked terrified, Aristotle took a step forward and saw her hand fly out and grip hard at the back of the couch, her lips were trembling.

"You're my life, Imogene," Aristotle said, his voice full of heartache. Imogene broke down then, hiding her face in her hands she wept inconsolably, when she looked up she saw Aristotle's face. He looked pale and sick and was watching her with tears in his own eyes.

"Is your son …"

"Yes."

"And his wife and children?"

"Yes."

"And your ex-wife?"

"Yes."

Imogene drew in a shaky breath, she wiped her eyes on the cuff of the dressing gown she wore, as she did so she accidentally inhaled Aristotle's scent. It caused love and fear to do terrible things to her head.

"I …" Imogene began but stopped, not knowing what to say.

"Yes?"

"I still … don't know what you are?"

She looked at him as if she was seeing something she could not conceive of, even though he stood before her in the guise of a man whom she had been loving all night, her eyes were scrutinising him as though she had never encountered a male before.

"I am from an ancient race, my mother was a human that could transform into a tiger and my father was a tiger that could transform into a human."

"And you are?"

"A tiger."

Imogene nodded looking dazed, she shook her head and walked gingerly around the sofa to sit on its edge, twisting her hands in her lap.

"I'm sorry, Imogene," Aristotle said, Imogene shrugged and looked up at him.

"Well, I kind of always thought you were rather too good to be real," she put her hand over her mouth when her laugh turned into a sob.

"Can …" Aristotle cleared his throat and tried again, "can you … handle this?"

Imogene looked up at him and stared shocked, she shrugged bewilderedly before speaking.

"I don't know," she answered honestly and Aristotle nodded, trying to keep his eyes dry, "what if I can't?"

Aristotle inhaled shakily and tried to keep his voice steady.

"Then I'll walk out of your life and I'll never bother you again," Aristotle answered truthfully, "you'll never want for anything."

Again Imogene began to weep, that he would say something like that, she just couldn't get over his goodness. But could she truly live with a … a thing? He was an animal, wasn't he? He was a mythical creature, he was what they made horror films about. He wasn't real.

"I know I'm not mad," Imogene said in a reasonable voice, she said it more to herself then to Aristotle, "I know what I am seeing is real but I cannot understand how its happening."

"Haven't you ever believed that there are things in the world entirely beyond your belief, things that you and every other ordinary person cannot conceive of?"

"Well, yes I suppose," Imogene said, "but I was thinking more along the lines of secret government agencies and … and atrocities covered up and …"

"This is real," Aristotle assured her, "I swear to you, it is real."

Imogene was silent for a long while, Aristotle could practically see the cogs in her mind ticking over. Her scent had been roaring in his nostrils, it was calmer now but still laced with fear.

"Are you vicious?" Imogene asked suddenly, Aristotle contemplated his answer.

"Only when protecting those I love," he said, Imogene stared at him for a beat.

"Can you love?"

Aristotle was stung by that, he wanted to say something back just as cutting to her but resisted it.

"Can you really ask me that after all I've shared with you?"

Imogene blushed and nodded, "I'm sorry," she whispered.

After another silent pause she got up and faced him.

"Can I have some time to think about things?" she asked and Aristotle nodded, he didn't look at her or say another word, but took his coat and walked out of the house.

* * *

Aristotle wandered aimlessly around the neighbourhood in utter despair, this wasn't how he had planned it at all. He hadn't been entirely sure how he was going to get over the whole I'm a tiger thing, or the sleeping arrangements but that was all background to the fact that he was in love for the first time in his life. Now it was all slipping away from him, Wren had his own family now, he didn't need a father anymore, and Aristotle had visions of not spending the rest of his life alone, but with Imogene by his side.

All gone.

Aristotle walked into the park, he'd left Imogene alone for about four hours now and even though he knew he should go back and try and win her around he didn't have the heart for it. He knew she wouldn't be able to accept what he was, he'd just have to wipe her memory of him and make it look as if the old dead lady Diana had left her the house. Because even if he wasn't in her life, he still didn't want her to waste it on that dickhead husband of hers.

"Damn," Aristotle sighed sadly as he stared at the newly planted rose bushes, replacing all the damaged ones he'd destroyed.

"What a life we would have had."

Aristotle had had it all planned out, how he would treat her, the things he would give her, the endless nights of love making, days of being together, letting the company run itself and Imogene and him living out the rest of their lives together. All the centuries he'd lived and he was still not getting it right. The fates must really hate him.

"Well, looky here."

Aristotle looked over his shoulder at Moran, or as Imogene renamed him Moron, was standing behind him. He held his torch in his hand and flashed it in Aristotle's face, the bright light sent piercing pain through Aristotle's head, causing him to wince and hold up a hand.

"Lower your flashlight, Moran," Aristotle ordered.

"Scaring you, am I?"

"Hardly," Aristotle said lightly.

"I knew I didn't like you, you snotty prick," Moran growled, "nothing but a wife-stealing piece of trash."

Aristotle felt his incisors lengthen, "she belongs to me."

"Well, why ain't you with her now?" Moran jibed mercilessly, Aristotle began to fear for the guy's life.

"She throw you over because you ain't giving her enough?"

Aristotel growled at Moran's vulgarity and knew if the guy didn't leave he would likely kill him, the tiger was struggling for release.

"Get the hell out of here, Moran!" Aristotle growled.

"You ain't no man, you faggot!" Moran kept taunting, "always knew Imogene Butler was a hot little slut!"

Aristotle's rage broke free and he advanced on Moran but before he could get to a hold of him, Aristotle fell to the ground in pain. The blinding light of the torch hadn't let him see that Moran was holding a stun gun in his other hand, the jolt it sent through his body had him in a seizure, changing forms. Two electric shocks in one night was dangerous to a Were no matter how minor they were, Aristotle had a terrible fear that he could be in a lot of trouble.

"Holy shit!" Moran shrieked, Aristotle heard his receding foot steps then a loud thud and a sickening crunch. Aristotle tried to move himself out of sight but couldn't find the strength, he knew he was about to black out. With Moran down for the count, probably knocked himself on a tree branch or something in his haste to run from Aristotle, it gave Aristotle more time to hide but not if he couldn't get himself out of view of the pathway and gates. Fighting the coming blackness was futile and Aristotle slumped in the flower bed in his tiger form.

* * *

Aristotle came awake slowly, he could see whiteness and he just knew he was in a lab of some kind, how the hell did he get out of this one?

"Oh God, you're awake!"

Aristotle snapped open his eyes and realised that the whiteness he saw was Imogene's shirt not the overhead lights of a laboratory. With enormous effort he flashed into human form and was naked on the grass of the park.

"What are you doing here?" Aristotle slurred, but Imogene didn't answer.

"Aristotle," her voice was urgent and scared, "you need to get up so I can get you home, okay? Otherwise we'll be caught!"

It was her fear that got him standing and he managed to flash some clothes on himself, but he couldn't stand on his own. Imogene immediately got under his arm to bear his weight on her shoulders and body. Aristotle tried to speak to her, to thank her for coming to him but she shushed him and prodded him to move. As they moved on to the pathway Aristotle noticed two large black shoes sticking out of the opposite flower beds.

"Moran?" he asked, Imogene nodded.

"I could only drag him so far," she explained breathlessly, Aristotle tried to laugh but he was too weak to do anything more then wheeze. Under the cover of darkness, which still might not be enough to hide from nosy neighbours, Imogene got Aristotle through the front door. She ducked out from under his arm and pushed him through the door, Aristotle leaned up against the wall, thinking that Imogene was still scared to be near him. When he looked for her she was frantically bolting the door, she turned to him, quickly tucking her hair behind her ears. Aristotle tried to move on his own but Imogene rushed to his side and took his weight once more.

"Front room," she suggested urgently, "I don't think I can get you upstairs!"

Aristotle stumbled into the room and lunged for the couch, he fell on it in a undignified heap.

"Shit!" Imogene cursed her lack of strength, "sorry, you slipped out of my grip."

Aristotle waved his hand to tell her it didn't matter, Imogene made a few awkward gestures before kneeling on the floor beside Aristotle. He opened one blurry eye to look at her, hoping to Artemis that he didn't throw up on her.

"Are you okay?" Imogene asked nervously, Aristotle knew he must look like shit, and the last thing she needed was a dead tiger in her house.

"Great," he whispered, her face paled and she looked even more terrified, he quickly sought to assure her, "I'm fine, Jenny. I just need time for the electricity to stop bouncing around in my cells."

"Electricity does this to you?" Imogene whispered incredulously to herself, Aristotle nodded, wondering what she was thinking at the moment. All he could sense was a massive over load of fear from her.

"Yeah," he whispered, "I didn't realise Moran was going to go all police brutality on me, otherwise I would have been quicker to get out of there."

Aristotle closed his mouth tightly and tried to make his stomach stop rolling, he lay there silently for a long time, just breathing steadily. Everything was going wrong, he needed to go back to New York as soon as possible and hide from this travesty. He knew Imogene was still beside him, probably staring at him as if he were something under a microscope, it was why he couldn't open his eyes when she said his name, he couldn't bear that look on her face.

To his utter surprise and delight he felt the tentative touch of Imogene's fingers on his forehead, he snapped open his eyes so abruptly that she jerked her hand back. Then she gave him a quick and nervous smile, he watched her with hopeful eyes as she drew in a steadying breath and stroked his hair once more. Aristotle moaned with contentment and Imogene paused.

"Are you hurt?" she asked anxiously.

"No, you just feel so good," he whispered, closing his eyes again, he knew that a tiger's stare was very off-putting because it was so intense, and he didn't want to do anything to make her more uneasy.

"I'm sorry," she whispered to him and resumed stroking him, Aristotle kept his eyes closed but smiled and turned so he was face was looking at her.

"For what?"

"For being so … you know," Imogene stammered, "for making you go. If you'd stayed none of this would have happened."

"But you came for me," Aristotle felt joy as he said the words, she paused and he opened his eyes to pin her with his most bright and intense stare.

"Why did you come for me?"

"Because I love you," Imogene informed him seriously, "I don't know what you are, or whether I am mad but … if this is a delusion, its one I want to stay in. If this isn't real I don't want to know what reality is, because it couldn't ever compare to what I feel for you."

Aristotle swallowed a few times before he could speak, he could feel his eyes begin to sting and needed to say something flip to lighten the mood.

"And it only took you four hours to figure that out?" he laughed, Imogene giggled and she leant forward, laying her lips gently on his. Aristotle smelt her fear ease and it was replaced by the beautiful scent of joy and love. He caught her hand and was ecstatic when she didn't flinch or pull away, he tugged her closer and Imogene climbed onto the couch beside him, her lithe body sliding next to his, fitting to him like she was made to be there. Aristotle did not immediately put his hands on her, he allowed her nervous breathing to calm and waited until her heart was no longer pounding. Before he could slowly move his hand to her face, Aristotle felt Imogene slipping the buttons from his shirt undone. She undid about four and slid her hand into his shirt and caressed his chest, Aristotle felt her tugging lightly at his chest hair, he felt her long, artists fingers stroking the hollow of his throat.

"You don't fear me?" Aristotle asked uncertainly, he felt Imogene sigh and the weight of her head rested over his shoulder.

"I don't think so, no," Imogene whispered, "I think I fear for you more."

Aristotle didn't dare talk in case it alerted her to how much her words meant to him. For so long he'd lived alone, without the love and companionship of a mate, Aristotle scarcely dared to believe what was happening.

"I love you, Imogene," he whispered, she whispered it back and snuggled closer, rubbing at his arm as if to keep him warm.

"Are we still leaving for New York?" Imogene asked and Aristotle nodded.

"Yeah, as soon as …" he trailed off, Imogene lifted her head and Aristotle immediately missed the weight of it on his chest.

"As soon as what?"

"Well, I could get us there in a blink of an eye," Aristotle couldn't help making it sound like an offer, Imogene's eyes widened.

"You can do that?" she asked awestruck.

"If you wanted," he said, "as soon as the shocks wear off, I could take us there. We would be here one minute and in my pent house apartment the next."

"My god," she whispered, her eyes wide, "you really are …"

"Weird," Aristotle suggested with a wry smile, Imogene laughed.

"I was going to say magical."

* * *

Aristotle opened his eyes and found it was morning, he was still on the couch and in his tiger form. Damn, he must have dosed off! He raised himself tentatively and looked around the room, he noticed that Imogene was asleep on the floor beside the couch. Aristotle flashed himself into human form and kept the blanket Imogene must have tucked around him in the night around his waist. Aristotle didn't want to be sneaky but he thought he had a better chance of seducing Imogene if he were naked, so he purposely did not flash clothes on to his body. Instead he leant down and brushed her hair back, she jumped as she was awakened, looking up at him with startled eyes. When she realised it was Aristotle her mouth softened into a smile,.

"Morning," she whispered.

"You know, I can't hurt you in my sleep," Aristotle said, holding her hand and helping her into a standing position as he sat on the couch, watching her lovingly.

"I know," Imogene said with a confident smile that belied her nervousness of him, Aristotle gave her a reprimanding but understanding smile.

"Then why were you on the floor?" he asked and tugged her closer, Imogene came, although she was a little stiff, and straddled his waist.

"Because you took up the whole couch," she informed him, stretching the stiffness out of her back and bringing her breasts close to Aristotle's face.

"Oh, sorry," he grimaced and she shrugged, settling into his lap and lacing her fingers behind his neck.

"Its fine. But I hope you have a bed in New York."

Aristotle gave an evil laugh and pushed his hips up against her, bringing his growing arousal up against her core.

"Anything you wish for," was his reply and he began nuzzling at the cleavage of her shirt, Imogene leaned her cheek on his hair. Suddenly she gasped as her clothes disappeared and the only thing protecting her was the blanket that was rapidly becoming a tent, on Aristotle's lap. Aristotle slipped his hand between her thighs and rubbed his two fingers up and down her sex, he watched her face with joy. Seeing her the flush on her cheeks and her eye lids droop as she began to move languidly against him. He moved his hand up to massage the her nub, Imogene gasped and bit her lip.

"I love the way your body feels," Aristotle whispered to her, barely audible over her gasps and moans, his fingers were now slick with her juices which he had worked out of her so expertly. He whispered things in her ear that only made Imogene hotter, Imogene pulled the blanket away from Aristotle's lap to expose him to her. Aristotle laughed at her eagerness, and gasped out a laugh when she lowered her head and bit him sharply above his nipple. Aristotle found that he didn't stop talking when he made love to Imogene, when he watched the way her breasts swayed and how full they looked he couldn't help telling her how beautiful they were.

"You - are - amazing," he muttered as she tongued his nipple, he swept his hand down her smooth back, loving the feel of her soft skin beneath his fingers. The fingers of his other hand were still playing with her, now her moved higher and penetrated her slowly with one long finger. Imogene moaned out and her back arched, she widened her legs across him and brought her sex lower to his hand, Aristotle added another finger, feeling his cock thicken as she moaned again.

"Look at you," he growled in her ear like some sort of caveman, "look at you! You're so soft and wet …"

Aristotle hissed abruptly and bowed his spine when Imogene's hand swept down his abs and fisted itself around his hardened sex. She worked him with firm, slow movements that had him biting his lip to keep control of his body. Aristotle growled when she tightened her fist and thrust his fingers harder in retaliation, Imogene bit his earlobe before breathing raggedly.

"I need you now."

Aristotle was eager to oblige, he removed his hand from her warm, wet burrow and took hold of himself in his hand. With his eyes fixed intently on Imogene's he positioned himself at her entrance and helped her slot him inside of her. The warm wetness stretching around him was more then he could stand and Aristotle gripped Imogene's hips to keep her still so he did not disappoint them both by going off to early.

"Just a minute," he hissed, feeling his ass muscles clenching as his hips tried to push up, trying to drive further and deeper home.

Having to stay still was driving Imogene insane, it was both thrillingly pleasurable and aching pain, feeling Aristotle's thick, long hardness just standing inside her. Imogene widened her stance, widening herself around him and sinking further down, Aristotle made an abrupt hissing noise that got her to stop, but she was by now wound up so tight she doubted if her knotted back muscles would ever recover. Those few pleasurable jolts she'd felt when slipping him in deeper were now begging to be pushed on higher.

"You're killing me," she cried out, Aristotle laughed and loosened his grip on her waist, before Imogene could move Aristotle sprang into action and began grinding hard against her, the wonderful sensations taking her breath away. Aristotle looked down between their glistening bodies, between the tunnel made by her flat, soft stomach and his tight, hard one to where his cock, glistening with his juices and her wetness, was disappearing into her heat. He moved his eyes to her breasts and brought his hands up so he could hold them while she rode him deliciously. When Aristotle felt Imogene's body tighten around him he unconsciously gripped her harder, feeling her nipples pushing against his palm. Imogene's nails bit into his shoulders while she moaned her way through a very long and beautiful orgasm. Aristotle thrust against her while she came and then roared as he allowed his body the bliss of flooding himself into her deep well.

"That …" Imogene gasped, "that -"

"Will only get better," Aristotle said and pulled her against his chest, wrapping the blanket around her naked back and ass. Imogene cupped his cheek as she leant in for a kiss and then pulled away with a laugh.

"When are we going to leave?" she asked again, feeling like an insistent, impatient child, Aristotle leaned in for another kiss before answering.

"I guess we could leave as soon as you can tear yourself off of me," he told her but made no move to get up. He was content to sit on the couch with Imogene draped over him, her head on his shoulder and her face turned into his throat.

"Not until this afternoon then," she said with a very put upon sigh, Aristotle chuckled and kissed her shoulder. While he rubbed his hands over her bare back Aristotle could not help looking longingly at his blank palm, why couldn't fate give him a break ? Fuck it! Aristotle thought viciously, and clenched his hand into a fist and pulled Imogene tighter against him. She gave a happy squeak and allowed her bare body to be crushed against him, Aristotle felt her mouth curl into a smile against his sweat soaked skin.

"I love you no matter what," he whispered so quietly that Imogene did not hear him, "no matter what!"

* * *

After more love making in the shower, Aristotle left Imogene to get ready while he walked through the house locking up the windows and doors securely. There was a sharp knock on the door, Aristotle frowned and approached it, before he had his hand on the knob a firm, no nonsense voice sounded from outside.

"Open up!" it called, "police!"

Aristotle rolled his eyes and opened the door, he raised a puzzled eyebrow at the three law enforcers there and gave them all a polite smile.

"Is there a problem, officers?" he asked in a benign way.

"Yes, Mr. Ti - Tiger … Ti-garian," the burly senior officer stumbled out while reading Aristotle's name from a piece of paper, he held the paper away from his body and squinted at it, trying to disguise his inability to read Aristotle's name with short-sightedness.

"Yes, sir," the officer continued resuming his superior, commanding voice, "you are under arrest."

"For what?" Aristotle asked sharply, he knew the gung-ho officers would have liked to be reading him his rights as he was walked away to the car in handcuffs, not explaining it to him while at his front door. But Aristotle's primal presence gave them all second thoughts before approaching him and touching him without his consent.

"For the assault of an officer," the policeman said angrily, Aristotle was tempted to roll his eyes, he was facing a group of hicks that had the 'mess with my brother-officer and you mess with me' attitude.

"When was this supposed to have happened?" Aristotle asked lightly, the officer pursed his lips angrily, he was trying to stealthily and silently tell his back up to go forward and hand cuff Aristotle. Either they didn't understand or were just plain ignoring their commanding officer because they refused to approach.

"Last night."

"Well then its impossible for me to be guilty."

"And why is that exactly, Mr. Man," the policeman snapped, hands on hips, Aristotle bit back a laugh.

"Because I was at home all evening," Aristotle explained as though he were dense.

"Can anyone corroborate that story?"

Aristotle said nothing and the officer looked smug.

"I can," Imogene said coming up from behind Aristotle, all three men gaped at her.

"Mrs. Butler?" the head officer said uncertainly, Imogene grimaced.

"Soon to be ex-Mrs Butler, but yes I can vouch that Mr. Tigerian was at home -" Imogene flicked her eyes up to Aristotle giving him a blatantly sexual look, "_all night_."

Aristotle bit back a smug smile of his own and gave the officers a forced sheepish look and shrugged, the officers nodded and backed away from the door. Apparently far too shocked at the idea of the well-respected Imogene Butler was having an affair and leaving her husband and being so blatant about it, to ask any more appropriate follow up questions. Aristotle shut the door and he and Imogene broke out into a fit of laughter.

"You are going to be the talk of the town," he told her with a grimace, Imogene rolled her eyes and shrugged, though she had a twinkle in her eye that said she was very please with herself.

"Who cares," she said flippantly, "something so scandalous might just liven all these stiffs up."

"You're bad," Aristotle growled and pulled her close to him to kiss, he pulled back grinning, "I didn't know if you wanted it to be let out quite in that way, I wasn't sure whether to give you as my alibi."

"Why should I care," Imogene said, "I'm in love and to be utterly cliché, I don't care who knows it."

Aristotle laughed and looked over at the pile of luggage in the living room, ready to be taken back with them.

"Do you want to see Mari before you go?" he asked, "or anyone else?"

"No there's no one who is that important," Imogene said easily, "and as for Mari, I think she'd understand and appreciate why I didn't say goodbye. I'll write to her and I know she'll be happy for me."

Aristotle nodded and tugged her into the living room, they stood there holding hands and staring at one another.

"So its time," he said softly to her, Imogene nodded, "no doubts?"

"nah uh."

"No regrets?"

"No way."

Aristotle's smile broadened until he was beaming happily, he turned her so she could see their luggage stacked in the centre of the room. Aristotle put his hands on her shoulders and counted down slowly from three. The luggage disappeared. Imogene jumped back and held in a scream with her hand, Aristotle waited to see how she would react.

When Imogene lowered her mouth she was shaking with silent laughter, "my god!" she whispered.

She looked over her shoulder at Aristotle in wonder, "Is it …"

"In our home in New York, yes." Aristotle nodded and laughed when she went forward to where the luggage had been and waved her hand through the clear space.

"Want to follow it?" he challenged.

Imogene nodded eagerly, after years of stale married life she was throwing herself into new experiences like there was no tomorrow. Aristotle brought her tightly to him and held her, he kissed her deeply before pulling back with a grin.

"Lets go!"

Before Imogene could take a fortifying breath Aristotle flashed them out of Maple Bowers and to his New York Penthouse. It happened in a mere blink of an eye but Imogene felt like in that small space of time she had gone three hours on a continuous rollercoaster. When Aristotle let Imogene go she almost felt her knees go out from under her, he caught her as she stumbled.

"I'm okay," she laughed hastily, "I'm good."

Aristotle nodded and let Imogene go when she shook out of his grip to go to the window and look down at the street. She turned quickly to grin at him, with the sun shining through behind her and making her glow.

"Like?" Aristotle asked nervously, "or not like? I mean, its not Maple Bowers but I guess the city skyline has its own kind of beauty."

"It sure does," Imogene laughed softly and started to walk around the modern living room, Aristotle began to feel nervous. He wasn't necessarily a minimalist by nature but he just wasn't into interior decorating, he let his interior designer do that for him when he moved so he could focus on his company. The woman had made his home all space, modern art and straight lines, Aristotle had never really looked at the place as anything more then a place to lay his head and seclusion from the world, but he worried his lip nervously now.

"You can change anything you like, you know," he said and then bit his lip, "that is - I mean, if you want to stay here and you feel like you want to make this a home. You have free rein …"

Imogene had a secret smile on her face, she walked off down the hallway and Aristotle stayed where he was, wanting her to get used to the place on her own. Imogene came strolling back on her own, she was smiling which made Aristotle feel relieved, she walked into his arms.

"Well, I guess New York may be looking for a new writer," Imogene said happily.

"You don't have to work," Aristotle said immediately, "I can take care of you."

"I know," Imogene assured him, "but I think I'd like the change of pace. Now," she added with a impish smile, "tell me something about tigers?"

"Yeah?" Aristotle laughed.

"Do they like to -" Imogene leant up and whispered a word into Aristotle's ear that gave him the quickest hard on in his life, with a scream Imogene found herself naked and under Aristotle in seconds.

"Yes they do," he growled.


	5. Chapter 5

Aristotle waited at least a week before telling Wren he was back home again, the boy was living in New Orleans but when he knew his father was home he was forever flashing in and out. He wanted Imogene to settle in to the idea of living a completely different life with a tiger. He'd acquainted her with the history and dynamics of Were-Hunter life which she assimilated into very easily. Even though it was all still new to her and she jumped whenever he changed forms unexpectedly Aristotle was beginning to believe he could for once make his own happiness. Aristotle had made love more times to Imogene in one week then he ever had with Karina, it scolded his insides with anger that the fates hadn't made Imogene his mate. Of course he knew it was impossible for a Katagaria and an average human to mate but he always had an inkling of hope in the back of his mind. Perhaps because of how well things had worked out for Maggie and Wren, but then he'd had a big part in that as well, by giving Maggie his mother's powers. Aristotle would not change what he had done, he put his son's happiness before his any day but he did wish there was a way for Imogene to become a Were and then he was sure she would be his mate.

But even that idea had a snag or two, didn't it?

Wren and Maggie were only mates because of Savitar's intervention. The fates never granted them their matehood. Either way it seemed a family trait that Aristotle had passed down to Wren that the Tigerian Katagaria males fell in love with human women that were not their mates.

Aristotle leaned against the door frame of his luxurious bathroom, Imogene was soaking in the tub. Her dark hair was piled high upon her head and the humidity in the room had made the dangling strands of hair curls around her face. She looked an erotic picture that he wanted to stare at for an age. Her beautiful eyes were glazed over as she gazed off into the marble wall in front of her, her long, slim hand that was balanced on the rim clenched and unclenched. Her scent was rife in the air, the smell of her expensive soap and anxiety permeated the room.

Aristotle cleared his throat and broke her daydream, she looked up at him and gifted him with a beautiful smile.

"What's wrong?" he asked, knowing the answer already, Imogene gave him an innocent, 'Wrong? Me?' look which he saw straight through.

"Nothing," she said casually and stood up to get out, Aristotle watched avidly as the foamy bubbles and water cascaded from her body back down into the tub. Water twinkling from the curls in the junction of her thighs and foam sliding from the curve of her breast to reveal her nipples. Trying not to be caught ogling her goodies, Aristotle handed her a thick, fluffy towel, Imogene wrapped it around herself, she was deep in thought again and her lips were almost unconsciously pouting.

"What if he doesn't like me?" Imogene broke out suddenly, Aristotle laughed and shook his head.

"He will," he insisted.

"But what if I say something wrong, I mean you are the only Were I know," Imogene protested, she wasn't rubbing herself dry but simply standing still working her mind up into a worse state. Aristotle took charge and marched her into the bedroom where she had lain out her clothes for the evening. Imogene began to dry herself while Aristotle watched eagerly and tried to talk her out of her anxiety.

"It doesn't matter that he is a Were," Aristotle muttered, "granted he is rather quiet once you get to know him but he won't dislike you. He'll love you and so will Maggie, she's a gem."

Imogene nodded half heartedly and wished to death she didn't have to do this meeting the kids thing, if Aristotle's only beloved son didn't like her chances was their love affair could come to an end. She hadn't told him these fears of course, he would only deny it anyway but Imogene knew things could easily go pear shaped.

She held off putting on her dress until the very last minute, she didn't want to wait around in it and let it wrinkle, the clock struck ten to seven and she couldn't put it off any longer.

"Ari?" she called and jumped when she heard him answer so close to her, she smiled over her shoulder at him.

"Can you zip me up in back?"

Aristotle stepped forward and pulled the delicate zipper up, finding it just as sexy to do the dress up as to unzip it. Yet there was an intimacy in doing this for Imogene that he loved, he'd never done anything like this for Karina, or any other woman.

"Stunning," he whispered to her and their eyes locked in the mirror, Imogene smiled at him, momentarily forgetting her worry. Then the door bell rang.

Imogene paled under her make up and Aristotle went off to answer the door, Imogene followed him as far as the lounge and didn't know whether to sit or stand to Wren and his wife, or mate, as the Weres called their other half.

"Where is she?"

Imogene heard a deep male voice that wasn't Aristotle's float down the passage towards her, it was not an unkind or aggressive voice, in fact there was a wealth of humour in it. When Aristotle appeared again he was walking beside a young man who was a slightly younger carbon copy of Aristotle. The shade of their hair and skin was identical, as was their walk and cadence of voice. Imogene smiled in a friendly way that would not have shown she was nervous, but as a Were Wren could smell her extreme nervousness and just smiled kindly back.

"Jen, this is my son, Wren," Aristotle introduced them, pleasure and pride beaming on his face for both of them, he felt like two half of his heart were finally meeting. "Wren, this is Imogene."

Wren held his hand out and Imogene shook it, "its wonderful to meet you, Wren."

"Human," he commented with interest and his shoulder jolted, for the first time Imogene noticed a pretty young woman behind Wren, evidently his mate Maggie, who had apparently slapped his shoulder for his comment. Imogene gave a genuine laugh, her eyes lighting up in a way that made Wren warm to her.

"Yes, I am."

"You're not mated," Wren stated and Imogene fidgeted nervously and blushed, she hadn't really got the whole mating thing when Aristotle had explained it but it was obviously a big deal for Weres. This time Maggie gave him a sly dig in the ribs.

Aristotle came to stand beside Imogene, he put his arm around her shoulders.

"Not unlike your situation with Maggie actually," Aristotle said lightly and Wren grinned, he looked around at his mate and pulled her forward, a wealth of love in his eyes for her.

"This is my Maggie, my mate," Wren almost purred when he said her name, "Maggie this is my father's mate …" he grinned mischievously before adding, "sort of."

Imogene laughed again and nodded in agreement, "yeah, sort of."

"Hello, Imogene. It's wonderful to meet you."

The two women shook hands and Imogene found that she liked the pretty Maggie who had a warm smile and genuine eyes.

"Soon to be wife once the divorce goes through," Aristotle murmured to her when Wren and Maggie had moved to take a seat. Imogene looked up at Aristotle and smiled, she touched her knuckle gently to his chin, just to make contact with him. As Imogene took her seat she caught Wren looking at her and she felt herself begin to grow hot with nerves.

When they had all seated themselves and easy conversation was flowing along, Imogene felt herself begin to relax and without thinking she ended up holding Aristotle's hand while she chatted away with Maggie. There was a clearing of a throat and a high tinkling against the champagne glass, Wren was tapping his beer bottle against Maggie's glass. Imogene saw Maggie smile indulgently at him. Wren stood up and looked down at Imogene, he raised his beer bottle to her.

"I would just like to say thank you to you Imogene," Wren began sincerely, Imogene felt her cheeks glow, "my father didn't deserve the kind of female he was mated to, he deserved much better. And I believe that sixty years on he has finally found a much better woman in you. I'll be glad to call you family."

Imogene felt tears well and laughed as she thanked Wren and raised her own glass, "thank you for letting me be a part of you all. I couldn't think of a better place to be."

She looked at Aristotle and raised her glass to him, "or a better tiger to be with. Mate or no mate, I love you."

Wren and Maggie gave a little cheer as Aristotle grabbed Imogene and kissed her deeply, telling her without words all that he felt.

"Christmas is going to be great," Maggie commented eagerly, "wait 'til you meet the grandchildren."

Imogene's eyes bulged - she was going to be a grandmother!

* * *

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Aristotle called happily from the bathroom as Imogene arranged her pillows on the bed.

"No," she replied with a smile in her voice, "no, it wasn't. I think they liked me."

Imogene turned as Aristotle came into the room, he caught her in a hug, "not as much as I do," he breathed sexily in her ear, Imogene laughed and pulled back to look up into his face.

"Do you think it will be a problem that we're not mates?" she asked anxiously, Imogene was ready and willing to take on every aspect of Aristotle's Were-Hunter life, she just hoped the fact that they were not mates would not cause any trouble.

"Absolutely not," Aristotle insisted immediately, "besides we already are mates. You are my soul mate, no matter what anyone else says."

"But …" Imogene worried her lip.

"What?"

"If she was your mate then Karina must have been your soul mate."

"No," Aristotle protested, "how can someone be your soul mate if they are made to be with you? We _chose _each other, and that is more powerful then anything the fates could ever do."

"You say all the right things," Imogene chuckled happily, her mind at ease.

"You never know, the Fates may give us a break one of these days," Aristotle said and Imogene shrugged with a new found confidence.

"Who cares, I have you."


End file.
